


Hawke's Journal

by Cateia



Series: The Chronicles of Vael [3]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Drama, Drinking, F/M, First Love, Humor, Loss of Virginity, Romance, diary entries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 60,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cateia/pseuds/Cateia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In her rush to leave Kirkwall after the showdown with Meredith, Hawke left her journal for Varric. Spanning the period from Hawke's final weeks in Lothering through her years in Kirkwall, the journal shows how Aspasia Hawke became The Champion. </p><p>The whole of the work is T in nature, but there will be occasional chapters with M or even E content. I will provide ample warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. King Cailan

**Author's Note:**

> My basic format is to give the journal entry, Varric's reaction to it (remember he's reading these as we are), then give the events which prompted the entry. Because the format of this story is basically a collection of one-shots, any offending chapters can be skipped. Cross references through the series will fill in any blanks.
> 
> Disclaimer: Hail Bioware! I'm just playing in their sandbox.

Varric Tethras reached his suite at the Hanged Man at long last. It had been a weary day. First was the battle with Meredith, then he was ordered away from Hawke's side at her insistence. She was badly hurt; he was desperate to know how she was doing, but had no idea where Sebastian was going to take her.  _Please keep her safe, Choir Boy. Kirkwall needs her. We all need her._

Fortunately, Varric had beaten the Templars to the Hawke estate and picked the lock on Hawke's green chest effortlessly, just as she had predicted. The Tethras signet ring was unexpected and brought him to tears. The leather-bound journal, however, was the real prize. Over ten years of unfiltered Hawke. Varric couldn't be bothered with bathing, eating, or even drinking right now. He couldn't wait to start reading about the Hawke nobody ever got to see. He unclasped the small brass latch that held the embossed blue leather cover shut. The unlined pages were filled with a neat, careful cursive. She hadn't been kidding about the origins of the journal. The first entry went all the way back to the affair at Ostagar.

" _During my shift at the tavern, I overheard some men talking about Ostagar. They said the Grey Wardens abandoned King Cailan and Teryn Loghain was lucky to escape with his troops after recognizing the trick. I have trouble believing that. Why would they ditch the King when they needed his troops to fight the darkspawn? Such a shame. The king was totally hot, too."_

Varric had to stifle a chuckle.  _Young Hawke was boy-crazy? Would've never guessed._ He smirked and resumed reading.

* * *

Aspasia had her back to the table of men, gathering their mugs onto a serving tray. They were having a heated discussion about the recent battle at Ostagar.

All she really had heard before tonight was that King Cailan had been killed, along with all of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, while Teryn Loghain had come out smelling like a rose. At nineteen, and a woman at that, Aspasia didn't know much about politics, but it didn't exactly take a genius to put two and two together. Something wasn't right about the Teryn's escape.

She turned around and approached the round table with six men sitting around it, most of whom she didn't know. All were quickly getting extremely drunk. One of the younger men had already put his folded arms on the table, burying his face in them. Another's face was greenish with sick.

A portly man with a ruddy face and patchy beard spoke louder than the others, his voice ringing clearly through the entire tavern. "I heard that them Grey Wardens sold good ol' King Cailan out. Left him to get torn apart by the darkspawn. And after his dad had worked so hard to get the Wardens back here!"

A thin man next to him, who Aspasia recognized as the local fishmonger, chimed in. "Aye, those Wardens got what they deserve! May they rot in the Void!"

The rest of the men at the table simultaneously erupted with "Huzzah!" and "Here, here!" The men clunked their mugs together carelessly, spilling sudsy ale all over the table. Downing their drinks effortlessly, they called Aspasia back to the table to order more drinks.  _The Wardens abandoned the King? What would be the point? They were all fighting the darkspawn together, weren't they?_  Aspasia filled their orders and returned with more ale. The young man who was greenish had excused himself to purge the excess ale from his stomach, and the other one who had buried his face before had now simply blacked out.

Aspasia couldn't resist. "So the Wardens set the King up?"

The portly man responded first, eyes narrowing at the audacity of this young serving girl trying to make conversation about manly things. "Aye, lass. Not that you really know anything about Wardens or darkspawn or King Cailan, do you?"

"I know  _enough._  I know the Wardens fight darkspawn. I know King Cailan was a terribly vain man, who chased glory in battle but neglected to provide an heir.  _And he was hot and kissed my hand and said I was beautiful._ But I don't know much about Teryn Loghain," Aspasia responded smoothly. The portly man cocked an eyebrow at her; he was surprised that she knew squat about anything.  _Usually all these wenches are good for is slinging ale and giving blow jobs in the alley._

"Well, all you need to really know is that the Teryn is Queen Anora's father. And now he's declared himself regent. It's a freakin' mess in Denerim. Glad we're far away from that place, that's for sure."

"Is that even legal, to declare yourself regent?" Aspasia had a slightly confused look on her face.

The portly man guffawed. "Aye, little girl. You persist in your questions about things that only concern men. You should be more concerned about learning how to cook for your future husband, or how to care for a babe. Now run along; my tankard is dry again."

Aspasia scowled. She knew she was pushing boundaries by asking, but her father—rest his soul—had always taught her to question everything. That there was nothing that a man could do that she was not perfectly capable of doing herself. He insisted that his eldest daughter was destined for greatness. He taught her how to use her magic carefully in an effort to keep her from getting caught and put in the Circle. When he passed away last year, Aspasia's world had crumbled. Every time she was confronted by men like this guy, so misogynistic, her father's words kept her from throttling the lout.  _Remember, my sweet princess, you are so much stronger than you will ever know. You are a Hawke. You are unstoppable._ She swore she could feel his tender hands stroking her hair, as he always did when he doted on his eldest daughter.

Aspasia's thoughts wandered back to King Cailan's stop in Ferelden last year, shortly after Malcolm Hawke had died. She, like virtually every other citizen in the village, had lined up to greet His Highness. When Cailan got to Aspasia, he took her hand gingerly in his. Locking eyes with her, he brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles and winking his amber eyes at her blue orbs. Cailan's blonde hair brushed his shoulders, with half of it pulled into neat braids. His massive golden armor glittered in the sun. Truly, King Cailan Theirin looked as though he was borne of the Maker himself.

"I am humbled to make your acquaintance, Serah," the king murmured. "What is your name, sweetheart?"

Aspasia felt her face redden, surprised that she hadn't accidentally let some of her magic loose. "The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty. Aspasia. Uh, that's my name. Aspasia Hawke."

With that, King Cailan smiled warmly and moved down the line. When he had gotten a respectable distance away from her, Aspasia started fanning herself, still hot.  _I am never washing this hand again!_

Later that night, as she worked in the tavern, Aspasia spotted Cailan in the corner. He had divested himself of armor, seeking to blend into the crowd with more common clothes. He couldn't hide, however, his statuesque frame or his very royal demeanor. She felt her cheeks pink with blush as he caught her glance and gave her a lopsided smile. He motioned for her to approach his table, which she did hesitantly—not because she didn't want to get closer to him, but because her knees were shaking so badly that she could barely stand, let alone walk. Finally, she made her way to Cailan.

"So you work here, Lady Hawke?" The king was genuinely surprised. "How old are you?" He gave her a long once-over, taking care to not stare too long, just enough to appreciate the curves that the Maker had bestowed on the pretty little serving girl before him.

"I am eighteen, Your Majesty," Aspasia replied, voice small.  _Can I manage to avoid self-immolation with a fireball? Yes? Good._

"A flower just at the verge of bloom, indeed. You are a very beautiful young lady. Look at you! You are pink from head to toe! Adorable! That's not on my account, is it?" Cailan was genuinely amused, a bright grin spreading across his face, amber eyes dancing wickedly.

"Your Majesty flatters me so wonderfully that I cannot help but blush," Aspasia whispered, looking down at her feet.

Cailan looked down at his tankard in mock shyness. He knew full well that he had gotten to her. She would eat out of the palm of his hand if he asked.  _It's good to be the King._

"Were I not married already I would try and talk you into spending the evening with me. But, alas, such is life. But even if I were free, I would never want to dishonor such innocence. It would spoil you and your chances of marrying well." Cailan oozed charm.

_King Cailan, I would totally do you. Seriously. I don't care about my honor._

Aspasia composed herself. "Aye, Your Majesty, it would."

"Tell me, who are your parents?" Cailan opted to quit teasing Aspasia, turning to more mundane talk.

"Leandra Amell and the late Malcolm Hawke, Your Highness."  _The late Malcolm Hawke. I hate saying that._

"Malcolm…Malcolm…oh yes! I heard good things about his, uh,  _abilities._  You didn't happen to inherit those, did you?" Cailan eyed Aspasia suspiciously. All non-Circle mages were apostates, subject to imprisonment at the Templars' hands. Aspasia knew that her answer might just put her and Bethany in danger, but she could not lie. Her father valued honesty and truth above all.

"Yes, Your Majesty. My sister and I inherited his gift. He taught us how to use our skills properly, though. In fact, some of his greatest friends were Templars! My brother Carver is named for one of his best friends, Ser Maurevar Carver," Aspasia began.

"I know Ser Carver. Good man," Cailan interrupted.

"Yeah, I never met him, so I'll take your word for it. Anyway, when I'm not working here, I make poisons for the local farmers to use against rodents and insects. Plus, I never need to carry a flint!" Aspasia, carefully making sure her back was turned to the rest of the tavern, held out her hand gingerly, snapping her fingers, eliciting a tiny flame which she extinguished almost as soon as it lit. Her blue eyes danced mischievously.

Cailan leaned back, threading his hands behind his head. There was something so unusual about her boldness in displaying magic, just for him. He hadn't even flinched; it was as if he instinctively knew she would not turn her magic on him. Never before had he met a mage who he felt safe around.

"It's surprising that you would admit to being an apostate to the King of Ferelden, Lady Hawke. You are a curious girl. If what I've heard about Malcolm is even half true, and you got even a shred of his personality, then I believe you will go far in life. Perhaps even beyond Ferelden. But I shouldn't keep you from your duties; I'm sure your boss is not pleased with the rest of his patrons' tankards sitting dry while you turn impossibly bright shades of pink for ol' Cailan." He winked at her, took her hand and kissed it as he did earlier that day, and bade her farewell.

Aspasia turned and went back to work. A few moments later, she turned to look at Cailan again, but he had slipped out the back door. The rest of her shift flew by as Aspasia was riding high on Cailan's words. She returned to her small house on the other side of town without incident. Arriving at the house, she entered her bedroom and kicked off her shoes. She flopped on the bed, reached underneath, pulled out her new blue leather-bound journal, and started writing.


	2. Learning Magic

" _Mother said that the neighbors heard the Blight was heading this way. We have perhaps two weeks before they hit Lothering._

_I hope she's wrong._

_She said we would probably have to try and outrun the Darkspawn, which seems pretty damned hard to do even with Bethany's and my magic and Carver's sword. Where in Andraste's ass would we go, anyway? We have nowhere to go in Ferelden._

_I don't like how this is shaping up. Not one bit. On the plus side, I managed to NOT scorch my robes today when I practiced my fireball. Bethany almost burned her eyebrows off! I win at magic."_

Varric wished, once again, that he could have met Bethany Hawke. If she had half the personality of Hawke, all the men in Kirkwall would have been in very serious trouble. Hawke had spoken to him about her once; said she had raven-black hair and hazel eyes and was the spitting image of Leandra Hawke when she was their age. Carver and Aspasia had inherited their dad's blue eyes, and apparently she got his blonde hair. His heart broke a bit knowing how they had to leave virtually everything of their lives behind, how Aspasia's uncle Gamlen sold them into a year's servitude just to get into Kirkwall proper. Hawke had been forced to grow up, real quick.

* * *

Aspasia and Bethany Hawke had sequestered themselves in their barn to practice their magic in secret. Neither girl had been able to learn all of Malcolm Hawke's spells, tips, or tricks, but he had taught them enough and left behind a substantial amount of literature for them to continue their education autodidactically. Today they were practicing elemental magics; fire, ice, water, and earth.

Aspasia took her whitewood staff in hand, pointing it at the rock that had been unlucky enough to be designated today's target. She took a deep breath, focusing her mana and channeling it into the staff. With a blink, a small fireball erupted from it and smacked the rock, bursting into ethereal licks of orange flame. She smiled slightly and quickly looked down, making sure she didn't pull a repeat performance of last week's elemental magic practice.

Because she and Bethany were still young, they sometimes had trouble commanding and controlling their magic at will. From time to time, things would happen that were completely unintended. A few weeks ago Bethany, laughing hard at Carver's insistent tickling of her feet, managed to let loose a bolt of lightning. It cut straight through his hair, leaving a gap straight down the middle that was completely burned away. Once Leandra had finished laughing herself sick at Carver's new hairdo, she helped to trim his hair and show him how to comb it so that the reversed mohawk wasn't  _quite_  so obvious. "Oops," Bethany had said, a smirk on her face. Aspasia didn't believe for one hot  _minute_  that the discharge was an accident.

Last week, Aspasia had managed to prematurely release her fireball, causing it to fall straight down onto her robes. She dropped to the ground and rolled around to extinguish the flame, but not before she had singed the garment into mini-skirt length. Leandra just shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, a bemused smirk on her lips, as she handed Aspasia enough coin to go buy a new enchanted robe.

Aspasia didn't even want to remember the school incident, but it crept to the forefront of her thoughts as she reminisced about the magical hijinks of the Hawke sisters. Her father had never,  _ever_  warned her that certain bodily functions could result in the accidental release of magic. As luck would have it, one day while she was sitting in class with her mates, Aspasia managed to pull the unlucky feat of sneezing and letting a fart loose at the same time. For a mage child, this unfortunately meant that she released some magic. A water spell. It made it look like she wet herself. Aspasia was so mortified that she didn't return for a week.

Aspasia wrenched herself from the reverie. It was now Bethany's turn to try the fireball. She lacked the careful focus, however, and when she blinked the fireball actually fired  _backward_ and hit her in the face. Fortunately, the flame was so fleeting that she wasn't seriously hurt. Her eyebrows were a little singed but still intact.

"Sister, should we call it a day?" Aspasia chided.

"Ugh. I swear, I will never get that right."

"It just takes practice and focus. You need to work on the focus part." Aspasia flung one arm around Bethany's shoulders, pulling her in for a quick hug.

"I know…it's just so  _boring_ to practice focus," Bethany whined as Aspasia notched the wooden beam. Every time one of them cast a spell successfully, they notched the wooden beam. The day had gone to Aspasia. She took Bethany by the hand as they walked back to the cottage to help their mother prepare the evening meal.

As they ate their supper, rabbit stew ladled over mashed potatoes, Leandra started addressing her three children. "As you know, there are reports of darkspawn approaching Lothering."

"Yes, mum, we have ears," Carver muttered.  _Maker, he is grumpy._

"I think we should consider leaving Lothering before they get much closer," the widowed mother continued. "We can head toward Highever; I have some old friends there."

"Leave…Lothering?" All three Hawke children responded at once.

"Well it's either that or be slaughtered by those creatures. I heard that they will be here within two weeks' time."

"Wow," Aspasia started, "just wow. So we just leave  _everything_? What about Father's grave?" Tears stung her eyes. Her whole life was in Lothering. Outside the village, she felt no sense of identity.

"Mother, how can we afford the trip? You don't really work, Aspasia doesn't get paid squat at the tavern, and I haven't had a whole lot of luck getting hired on to help the local farmers this year," Carver grumbled.

"I've been saving up. I've been making us live below our means for quite a while to do it. Plus, I sold off some jewelry that I didn't wear anyway. We should be good to get to Highever, and we can find jobs there. Highever is a larger city than Lothering; there will be more opportunity there for all of us. Girls, perhaps you can find an apostate to teach you your magic. Carver, you might be able to find new people to spar with and then join the guard or something. Lothering is too tiny for that," Leandra replied. Despite facing leaving all that her children knew, she felt deep down that this would be good for them, whether they had to flee darkspawn or not.

Bethany was the only one who didn't say anything. She neither agreed nor disagreed. She only picked at her supper and broke away from the table as soon as was polite to do so.

After helping with cleanup, Aspasia retired to her room. She picked up one of her father's books, flipping through the pages, pretending to read but too upset to be able to concentrate. She put down the book and reached under the bed for her trusty journal.


	3. A Golden Grey

" _I was over at the Chantry today when a group of people walked in. They brought their freakin' Mabari. Who brings a Mabari to the Chantry? Anyway, they were all decked out in armor and stuff, except the mage who was barely wearing a top. While the women talked to the Revered Mother, the guy started poking around after the hound came over to me. I struck up a bit of conversation. He's cute! He said his name was Alistair and then he said that he was a Grey Warden. I couldn't believe it! I thought they all died at Ostagar, but he said that he and the archer (I think her name is Elissa?) managed to survive. All he told me about the situation was that I shouldn't believe everything I hear. Anyway, they came with me to the tavern. Elissa (?) glared daggers at me all night. Whatever. The other one, the mage, Morrigan, zapped Alistair in the nuts with a cold spell. I think I like her already!"_

Varric's jaw went slack.  _She met Alistair before he was King of Ferelden? This should be good._  He vaguely remembered their meeting with Flemeth on Sundermount; the name Morrigan was mentioned then as well. _Hawke met the Witch of the Wilds' DAUGHTER?_  Certainly, Aspasia Hawke was shaping up to be far more interesting than he could have ever imagined.

* * *

Aspasia, feeling more than a little lost faith-wise, made her way over to the Chantry. After her mother's bombshell plan to leave Lothering was revealed last night at dinner, Aspasia had been nursing a headache.  _Mom has a point, I'll give her that. Several, actually. But what about Father's grave? Who will tend it? Who will pull the weeds and make sure the stone doesn't get damaged? Those darkspawn will probably ruin it._

Entering the Chantry, Aspasia made her way over to one of the side pews. She wasn't there for show, like some citizens of Lothering. They made sure to sit up front, right in the middle, so that everybody could see how pious they were. In reality, the people that sat up front were some of the most crooked people in Lothering, if not Ferelden.  _Sanctimonius prigs._

Aspasia found a quiet corner, away from the main crowd, for vespers. She sat reverently, head bowed, lost in her own mind. She silently pleaded with the Maker for guidance.  _What should I do? Mother looks to me to guide Bethany and Carver. She's relied on me so much since Father died. But in this, I don't know what to do. I need you, Maker. Now more than ever._

Long after vespers concluded, Aspasia remained in the pew. The calm of the Chantry was a pleasant change from the hubbub in the tavern. She still had some time before she had to report to work, why not go in with a calm mind? After a time, Aspasia looked around and found that she was virtually the only non-clergy person there. Then the door opened, and three people marched in with their Mabari hound.  _A Mabari? In the Chantry?_

There was one man and two women. The man and one of the women wore splintmail. They were armed; the man with a sword and shield, the woman with a longbow and quiver of arrows. The other woman was obviously a mage; she wielded a large carved staff and barely wore a thing.  _What is it with mages and little to no clothing? I need my robes to help focus my mana!_ The group approached the Revered Mother straightaway; they looked to be on a mission.  _Duh, Aspasia. They're only armored and carry weapons. Of course they're on a mission. And the dog, don't forget about that beast. Called WAR hounds for a reason, they are. Maker, he smells. Did he roll in his own shit? Good grief, they need to dump him in a wash tub!_

The Mabari, as if he sensed what Aspasia was thinking, approached her, barking excitedly before rolling on his back just for her. His actions only made his stench waft around more. The smell was beyond shit…if Aspasia knew for sure what death smelled like she would have sworn that's what the smell was. Her stomach started to turn. Finally the hound sat on his haunches, panting at her with what seemed to be a  _smile_. The ruckus that the hound caused in the Chantry caused the man of the strange group to break away. It didn't seem to matter that he left the conversation; the brown-haired archer had strutted in like she owned the place and had been the one to engage the Revered Mother.  _He's letting that woman be in charge? How odd._ As the man drew closer, Aspasia sized him up.  _Blonde, short kinda spiky hair, kept very neat. Athletic build. Tall, but not too tall. Is that peach fuzz on his chin? Check out that jawline! Cute. Yes. Very cute, he is. Try not to drool too much. And don't freakin' blush!_

"Hello, I see Barky has made his presence known," the man said, a smirk at the corner of his mouth. Barky, as the hound was apparently named, wagged his tail and barked at the man, who reached down and gave an affectionate scratch behind the hound's ears.

"Uh, yeah…when was the last time he got a bath? My eyes are watering from his stink!" Aspasia pretended to dab tears from her eyes. Barky scowled.

"Well, to be honest, he's not mine. He's Elissa's over there. I mean Elissa is literally over there and she owns him. Not that Barky's only hers when he's over there. Er…um…hi! My name is Alistair." He awkwardly thrust a gauntleted hand her way, not noticing that there was still a bit of blood on it from the skirmish they had with bandits on the way into town. Aspasia glanced down at his hand, noticed the blood and looked back up at him with a quizzical look.  _The tips of his ears are bright pink. This awkwardness is kind of endearing._ She cleared her throat for effect.

Taking the hint, Alistair looked down and gasped slightly at his gaffe, ripping the gauntlet off his hand and trying again. "Sorry, I sort of forgot about that."

Aspasia hesitated to take his hand. "You…sort of forgot you have blood on your hands?"

"NO! No, no, no. I mean I forgot that I had the gauntlets on. I remember the blood." Alistair spluttered, then cringed at what he said.  _Maker, I probably sound like a murderous madman!_

"Uh…" Aspasia backed away slightly.

Alistair took notice of Aspasia's backward move. "Oh! There were some bandits at the entrance to the city. They tried to take our money and Elissa over there…" Aspasia snickered. Alistair muttered something she couldn't make out and coughed before starting again. "We took care of the problem." A crooked grin crept across Alistair's face, taking joy in the vigilante deed.

"Wow. Really? Those guys have been there for a while. How courageous of you, being strangers to Lothering and all," Aspasia said, trying to ooze charm. "My name is Aspasia Hawke. How do you do?" She offered her hand for a kiss, which Alistair, having finally remembered his gentlemanly manners, performed gracefully. His cheeks started to turn a shade of pink to complement his burning ears.

"I'm well, thank you, Lady Hawke. Um, do you know where the tavern is in town? I'm parched," Alistair said, relaxing slightly.

"Why, yes I do. I happen to work there. I'll be heading over shortly. Would you and your ladies like to come with me?"  _Work just got a whole lot more interesting._

"Perfect! Yes! We will come with you. I think Elissa is in desperate need of drink. She's been kind of cranky all day and Morrigan…well…I think she's beyond help."

"You forget I have supernatural hearing, Alistair? If you would like to see what 'beyond help', looks like, just keep talking. I can freeze your man bits from here." The raven-haired mage shouted from across the nave, causing Alistair to jump a tiny bit and the Revered Mother's jaw to drop. All activity in the Chantry screeched to a halt, with people split between staring at Alistair or at Morrigan.

Aspasia doubled over in laughter at Morrigan's outburst. When she looked back up, Morrigan was bearing a smug grin, flashing a wink Aspasia's way. Alistair looked as though he would like to melt into the floor.

"Maker's Breath! Really? Man bits? She had to go there in the bloody Chantry?" Alistair mumbled under his breath. His voice dropped to a whisper as he peaked his eyebrows. "Do you see now why I need a bloody drink?"

"Could be worse. My sister Bethany shot lightning through my brother's hair and gave him a reverse mohawk. You should see it!" Aspasia offered, trying to keep poor Alistair from keeling over from mortification.

"So your sister's a mage?" Alistair looked genuinely surprised.

"As am I," Aspasia volunteered.

"Apostates in Lothering. Lovely. I used to be a Templar. This…is awkward." Alistair ran his un-gauntleted hand through his short blonde locks.

"Used to be? I didn't think people could break out of the Order," Aspasia responded, brow furrowed.

"Well, I was tapped to be a Grey Warden right before I took my vows. Duncan used the Right of Conscription to get me out of there. Not even the Templars can defy the Wardens' Right of Conscription, especially not now that we're facing a Blight. So yes,  _ex_ -Templar Alistair at your service." Alistair gave a grandiose mock bow.

Aspasia's eyes widened and her jaw slackened. "You're a Grey Warden? I thought you all died out at Ostagar."

"Nope! Elissa and I survived. We're in the process of…well…I probably shouldn't talk about it right now. Besides, you probably don't care. Just remember that you shouldn't believe everything you hear." Alistair looked back at Elissa, who once again narrowed her eyes at Aspasia. He started to fidget.

"Are you alright, Alistair?" Aspasia asked, noticing his increased uncomfortableness.

"Er…yes. It's just that—I mean—well—Elissa gets kind of  _bossy_  sometimes, and I don't think she likes that I'm still over here. I was just supposed to fetch Barky. Alistair looked down. The Mabari had returned, all on his own, to Elissa's side. Neither of them had noticed.

"Well  _that_  might explain it," Aspasia offered. "It's time for me to head to the tavern. Are you and your ladies ready to leave?"

Alistair turned and craned his neck to gauge how close Elissa was to finishing with the Revered Mother. "Let…me…go check. I'll be right back!" Alistair flashed a grin and walked briskly to Elissa's side. She ended her conversation with the Revered Mother and listened to Alistair make his case for going to the tavern. Elissa nodded her assent. Alistair waved Aspasia over.

"Aspasia, I'd like you to meet Elissa Cousland of Highever, and Morrigan, Bitch—I mean WITCH of the Wilds.  _Oops._ " Alistair said snarkily, then yelped and jumped. He tried very hard to not clutch his nether region, opting instead to pigeon-toe himself clumsily as he gritted his teeth. Morrigan smirked. A thin trail of icy vapor rose from the fingers of her left hand. Elissa rolled her eyes, looking like someone pissed in her gruel. Aspasia broke out laughing at the spectacle.

"It's nice to meet you, Lady Cousland, Morrigan," Aspasia offered, nodding in respect to the women before her.

"Likewise." Elissa's gaze was hard and cold as she folded her arms across her armored chest.

"'Tis my pleasure, Aspasia." Morrigan returned the deferential nod with a bemused smile.

"Well, as I assume Alistair told you, I work at the tavern. I'm leaving now, so if you'd like to come you are more than welcome to tag along during my walk. I can point things out to you so you're not so lost here." Aspasia gave the three a warm smile.

"Lead the way, Aspasia," Alistair groaned, walking funny and lagging behind the three women.

* * *

It was busy at the tavern that night. Aspasia didn't have much of a chance to visit with the strangers. Not that Alistair would have been terribly entertaining; he got about halfway through one tankard of ale and fell asleep. Elissa was knocking the ale back like there was no tomorrow, and Morrigan said she didn't drink. Something about shapeshifting and not being able to metabolize the alcohol properly.  _Wait, shapeshifting? I wonder if she would teach me._

After the tavern closed, she bade the group farewell. Both Elissa and Morrigan were trying to hold up the armored Warden as he was slurring something about swooping. Aspasia shook her head as she chuckled. She shuffled home, alone with her thoughts…about Alistair. As she did most nights, she crashed onto her bed as soon as she got home and wrote all about her day.


	4. How to Train Your Hawkes

" _Alistair sparred with Carver at their camp last night. It was freakin' hilarious to watch my baby brother get his arse kicked. Alistair is really, really good. And hot. Did I mention that? He looks really, really familiar too. Blonde hair, amber eyes, muscular build…come to think of it, he kind of looks like Cailan did. I'm not complaining! He is so awkward and adorable. I am finding myself really smitten! But, he IS a Grey Warden, and they are leaving soon, as are we. We probably won't see each other ever again. *le sigh*_

"This just keeps getting better and better," Varric muttered aloud to nobody. "Our little Hawke had the hots for Alistair. I really wish I had been there when he was in Kirkwall a couple of weeks ago. I bet that was all kinds of awkward with Sebastian there!"

* * *

Four days had passed since Aspasia met Alistair, Elissa, and Morrigan at the Lothering Chantry. Since then, she had kept herself so busy with preparations to leave that she had hardly any time to herself, let alone seek out the intriguing trio. Today's agenda included dragging Carver to the blacksmith. Carver said he had been practicing his sword skills yesterday on a half-dead tree in the Hawkes' backyard when he felt something pop in the grip. Hopefully Smithy would have some options for them. They only had a week left in Lothering, so whatever option Carver chose, it would have to be quick.

"Can't you just do it for me, sister?" Carver whined. "I don't wanna get out of bed. The floor's gonna be cold."

Aspasia rolled her eyes at Carver, who was attempting to cocoon himself within his blanket. "Uh, I'm not the swordsman here. You are. It's your blade. You must come with," Aspasia chided as she tugged the blanket up, exposing his feet to the chilly morning air.

"But Smithy will be able to figure it out…go 'way…" Carver kicked his feet in a futile attempt to get them back under his blanket.

"If you don't come with me,  _Carver Malcolm Hawke_ , I will sell that worthless thing for scrap and buy myself a pretty new dress with the coin. You'll be defending yourself from the darkspawn with a stick."

With both hands, Aspasia yanked the blanket off of Carver, who had gone to bed in just his smallclothes. Carver attempted to cover himself with both hands, as Aspasia noticed the bane of every young man's existence: morning wood.  _Aw—AWWWWWW…I did NOT need to see that!_ She turned around to give him a chance to get himself  _situated._ Carver took advantage and shot out of bed, threw on whatever was on the floor, and snatched the broken blade, growling obscenities at his sister the whole time. They got to the blacksmith's cottage just as he stepped out to hang his OPEN sign.

"Carver! Aspasia! Good morn' to ya! What can I help you with today?" Smithy, as he was known to all, was a booming man with a pot belly, bald head, and graying red beard. On first glance, he was intimidating but had a reputation for kindness and charity. He had taken an interest in Carver several years ago, making arrangements for the young Hawke to train with the small Templar presence at the Chantry. When his workload allowed, Smithy had started to show Carver the basics of forging.  _To know your blades, you should forge your blades_ , he had always told the boy. Not that headstrong Carver had listened; if he had he wouldn't have needed to ask Smithy to inspect his sword. Instead, he held the sword in outstretched hands as he approached the blacksmith.

"Uh, I think I broke it, Smithy. What do you think?"

Smithy took the greatsword from Carver and inspected it carefully. He stepped away from the Hawkes and swung it a few times, clucking his tongue as he felt the shift deep within the handle.

"You've broken your tang, Carver. You _should_ know that. I might be able to fix it, but I'm backlogged at the moment, so it'll take at least a week before I can even try. If I can fix it, I can't guarantee it'll be the same afterward either; in fact, that will always be a weak spot. You might want to just get a new sword. I spoke to your mother yesterday and she told me that you were leaving for Highever in a week? That's a heck of a journey. You'll need the best sword you can get your hands on."

"Uh…er…Aspasia? What do you think I should do?" Carver asked, pleading. The sword had sentimental value; it was the first thing he bought with money he had saved from working the local farmers' fields.

Aspasia took a deep breath. She knew Carver loved his greatsword. "I think you should get a new sword, Carver. We're going to be traveling for a long time; you may not be able to get this one repaired again or buy a new one if the fix doesn't hold. We know anything we get from Smithy will be top quality." Smithy beamed at Aspasia's praise as she shot him a tiny wink.

The door to the blacksmith's shop opened, causing a small bell to ring. Aspasia turned and saw Alistair and Elissa walking towards them. Her heart fluttered ever so slightly; Alistair had foregone his chestplate and she could size up his impressive physique more easily.  _And here I thought all that hunky goodness was armor!_  He noticed Aspasia and a bright grin lit up his face.

"Hey! I know you!" Alistair quickened his pace as he approached Aspasia.

"Hey! I know you too!" Aspasia was sure to return the warm smile.

Elissa stopped and rolled her eyes, arms folded across her chest. That seemed to be a typical stance for her.  _I wonder why she seems so damned cranky all the time?_

"Now who's this," Alistair started, gesturing towards Carver, "your lucky suitor?" Aspasia could have sworn she saw Alistair's lower lip jut out slightly, betraying the amused smile he tried to project.

"I'm her  _brother._ " Carver spat, nearly choking on the words in his effort to get them out as quickly as possible. His glare might as well have been icy daggers shot straight into Alistair's chest.

"Oh! Uh…yes," Alistair said, realizing his gaffe and smacking palm to forehead. "Aspasia mentioned she had a brother. You must be…"

"Carver." The younger Hawke did not offer more.

"You're right! Carver IS your name!" Alistair blurted. Carver's eyebrows shot up in jest. Pausing to consider the words that just came out of his mouth, Alistair continued, "Um…sorry about that. I, uh, tend to speak first and think later sometimes." Alistair shuffled awkwardly, garnering a bemused look from Aspasia.

Carver's hard glare softened. "Well, I suppose you didn't know me. And I don't look terribly much like my sister, and I'm glad for that," Carver responded, warmer still. Aspasia gave him a sock to the arm at the assumed insult. "Sister, I only meant that I'm glad I don't look like a girl. You are very pretty, for being my  _sister_."

Aspasia soothed Carver's arm where she had hit him. "It's okay, Carve. I just wanted an excuse to punch you." She smiled sweetly.

Carver pulled away from Aspasia's massage. "Maker, you can be such a…ah, I probably shouldn't say it in the company of  _actual ladies_ ," Carver continued, gesturing at the still-scowling Elissa Cousland and garnering another, harder punch from his sister. "We haven't met. I'm Carver Hawke." Carver approached and extended his hand for Elissa to offer hers. She did not.  _Won't even take my hand…OUCH. She's grouchy, but pretty. She could probably kill me two dozen different ways before I even realized she blinked, but it'd be worth it..._

Alistair recognized the awkwardness that was taking over the situation. "Carver, this is Elissa Cousland. She is one of my traveling partners and a fellow Grey Warden."

"Grey Wardens!" Smithy hissed. "Here? In Lothering? You are supposed to be  _dead_. Do you realize there is a bounty on your heads for your betrayal to King Cailan?"

"Smithy, the Wardens did not betray Cailan. Teryn Loghain ordered his men to retreat and leave the King and the Wardens on the field. Alistair and Elissa here just happened to be in the right place at the right time and survived," Aspasia explained. Alistair and Elissa hung their heads in reverence to their fallen Wardens and Cailan.

Carver was shocked. He had heard the rumors and figured them to be true. The only thing he had known about the Wardens is that they were allegiant to no King. Teryn Loghain, however, was the King's father-in-law; why would he betray King Cailan? Yet here these two Grey Wardens were, standing feet away from him, and his sister was gawking at the blonde man like he was some sort of divine being.  _Oh, Maker. There she goes with one of her stupid crushes again._

"Y'know, Aspasia, I didn't really believe it went down at Ostagar the way the soaks in the tavern would have me believe. And you," Smithy directed towards Elissa, "Cousland is your surname? The same as the late Teryn of Highever?"

Elissa perked up at the recognition of her noble blood. "Indeed, it is. I am the late Teryn's daughter. Unless we find my brother Fergus, I might just be the Teryna." She shrugged her shoulders cooly, as if the sudden thrust into such a high-ranking position happened every other day.

"Well, your secret is safe with me. For Grey Wardens and for the house of Cousland, provisions are on the house," Smithy started. "There is one catch, however."

"Name it, and it shall be done, good man. Your generous offer is an unexpected kindness in these dark times," Alistair said, voice steady and graceful; a far cry from the adorable awkwardness that Aspasia had gotten accustomed to. Aspasia cocked her head slightly as she noticed the change in tone.  _Regal, almost._

"I would like you to take young Carver here and give him a few good days of training. He has exhausted all that the Templars here can offer him. The Hawkes are good folk, and I'd hate to hear of something happening on their travels because Carver wasn't good enough with his blade. Y'see, I've tried to take him under my wing and turn him into a fierce warrior, maybe get him into the Royal Guard. The Hawkes' have had a tough year since Malcolm died. That broke my heart, it did," Smithy pleaded.

Aspasia's eyes misted slightly. Smithy had really taken extra time to help Carver during the past year. It would be difficult leaving, not knowing if he would be able to get out of Lothering in time or not.

Alistair looked at Elissa, who silently agreed. "It'd be our pleasure. We could use the practice ourselves."

Carver's face lit up. "Thank you so much! It would be such an honor to spar with Grey Wardens! I suppose I'll need that new sword then, Smithy."

"You got it. Tell ya what…I've got just the blade for ya…let's do a straight-up trade," Smithy said. He ducked down behind the counter and pulled out a long carved wooden box. From this box he pulled out a large greatsword crafted of silverite, with a grip wrapped in drakeskin. A stone set into the pommel appeared to be some sort of rune, which was probably why the blade had a mystical glow about it.

Alistair let loose a low whistle of appreciation. "Smithy—can I call you that? That is a fine, fine blade!"

"Of course you can call me that. Everybody does. Indeed this is a fine blade; one of the finest I've ever seen. I did not craft it, I am sad to say. It was something that belonged to my grandfather."

"What?" Aspasia and Carver spat simultaneously.

"Yes. You didn't think I hatched from an egg, did you? My grandfather was quite the warrior, as was my father before me. Alas, while I did get grandpappy's smithing skills, I did not inherit his or Father's warrior talents."

"Why me, Smithy?" Carver's mouth was still slightly agape.

"You, Carver, have shown great promise. I am very proud of you, boy, especially since your own dear father passed. Nothing would make me gladder than to know you wield the Breistolen blade. I knew when I was about your age that I would never have a son to call my own. So I spent my adult life trying to find a young man worthy of my family blade. I believe with all my heart that young man is you. I only ask that you pass the blade along to your own son when the time comes."

"I suppose I can do that," Carver responded brightly, before concern overtook his features. "Are you sure I can handle this blade? I'm not sure I have the strength to wield it yet."

"You will have to do it, Carver. You will have to find the strength." Smithy handed over his family's blade to Carver.

"I—I can never thank you enough, Smithy. Truly. It has been an honor to work with you. I'll do my best to keep making you proud." Carver bounded out of the blacksmith's shop, probably to start getting used to the heft of the blade.

Aspasia hung back, eager to talk to Alistair. She watched the Wardens talk about the work they needed done, taking note of how Elissa's body language practically screamed that she wanted Alistair.  _So THAT'S why she is so cold to me. But he wants who he wants…all's fair in love and war, I suppose._  Alistair, for his part, seemed completely oblivious to Elissa's fawning gaze and light touches. When they were through talking with Smithy, they turned to leave. Alistair stopped to talk to Aspasia, causing Elissa to keep walking, her steps practically turning into petulant stomps.

"So, I'm to train your little brother, eh? Frightening," Alistair said with a lopsided grin.

Aspasia rolled her eyes. "Good luck with that. He is iron-headed. You're the one that should be frightened, to be perfectly honest."

A wicked flash crossed Alistair's eyes. "It'll be fun. You should come! We can make a big party of it."  _Oh Maker, he looks like he is up to NO GOOD. I love it._

"Sure. Can I bring Bethany?"

The Grey Warden shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sure Morrigan won't mind having another mage to talk to. Or be bitchy at. Either or."

"But…I'm…also…" Aspasia cocked her head to the side and pointed to the staff strapped across her back.

"I know, you're a mage. But…I could give  _you_  a few tips too.  _Maker, is he flirting with me?_ You look like you're strong enough to wield a sword in addition to your staff. You can never have enough swords against the darkspawn."

"True, true. I have sparred with Carver a few times. It was…fun. Perhaps we can do you and your companions a favor in return. Would you like to come to our house for dinner? Mother is a fantastic cook."

"Hmm…depends," Alistair teased, winking at Aspasia, "what's on the menu?"

"I believe she's making a cheese-ale soup, and I'm-" Aspasia answered.

"Say no more. I'm there!" Alistair interrupted, putting his index finger on her lips.

Aspasia, not really getting why he lit up like a Feastday tree at the mention of  _soup_ , gave him quick directions to their house and set off to complete the rest of the day's tasks. She stopped by the market and picked up the foodstuffs required for dinner before swinging by the tavern and getting a half-keg of ale. The rest of the afternoon went quickly. Leandra whipped up a triple batch of her famed soup on the advice of her daughter:  _"You should have seen his reaction, Mum. I have a feeling he and Carver are going to battle to the death for the last bowlful. You might want to triple the batch instead of just doubling it."_

The extra work involved with making extra soup meant that Aspasia had to bake the bread while Bethany finished cleaning the small cottage. When all of the necessary tasks were done, there was just enough time left for the Hawke ladies to gussy up for their guests. Carver didn't bother.  _I'm a man,_ he had said,  _Alistair will understand. It's a guy thing._ Aspasia had only rolled her eyes in disgust, thinking to herself that even when he was covered with blood in the Chantry, he neither looked nor smelled as dreadful as her brother did.

The meal went well enough, considering Elissa didn't say anything despite Carver's and Bethany's best efforts, and Morrigan…well…she had decided that having two bumbling young men to torment was much better than just Alistair. Aspasia had never seen Carver turn such shades of red. Alistair, for his part, seemed to enjoy having the night off from Elissa's attitude and Morrigan's… _charms_ , engaging in friendly banter with Aspasia and her mother. Leandra wasn't sure what to think; the young man was very sweet, but had an unnatural appetite for her soup, while the young rogue was so caught up in being spiteful that she wouldn't even try to be polite. The damned Mabari was tearing up the backyard like there was no tomorrow; Maker only knew how many 'surprises' she would find on her way to the garden in the morning.  _The mage is nothing but trouble,_  she told herself.  _What company you keep, Aspasia._

* * *

Leandra Hawke had excused her children from their share of the nightly chores so they could return to the Grey Wardens' camp and start training. As the group of six headed to the outskirts of Lothering, Alistair and Aspasia fell a couple of steps behind.

"You don't have to do this, Alistair," Aspasia whispered. "I know you have enough on your mind, with the darkspawn and Teryn Loghain and all."

Alistair stopped and squared shoulders with the mage. "Hush. I want to do this. I'm sick of sparring with Elissa. I know all of her moves and I'm getting complacent, and complacency gets you killed," he breathed before winking at Aspasia. "Plus, I want to see what kind of moves you've got!"

 _There he goes with that crooked grin of his. He's definitely flirting with me. Sweet!_ Aspasia rocked herself back to reality. As much as she would love nothing more than to… _spar_  with him, Aspasia knew that she wasn't the one that needed Alistair's help.

"I was talking about training  _Carver_. You have  _no idea_  what you've signed on for. Personally, I was hoping to get some tips from Morrigan too…not that training with you wouldn't be good, but Bethany and I have a LOT to learn and no elder mages to learn from."

Alistair grew quiet. "Oh. Of course. Silly me, what was I-"

Morrigan's shout interrupted his thought. "'Tis not  _THAT_  far, surely you cannot be lost, Alistair. Even  _Carver's_  not  _THAT_ dumb. Hurry up!"

"Right!" He responded, seemingly glad for Morrigan's intrusion. "C'mon, Aspasia. We shouldn't linger."

The pair quickly caught up to the other four. Elissa sat by the fire, inspecting the fletching of her arrows and making sure the shafts were straight. Carver and Alistair wasted no time in getting down the task at hand, with Carver quickly discovering that he was nowhere near the caliber of fighter that Alistair was.

Aspasia paused to watch the two warriors duke it out. As she watched the two young men, she noticed just how graceful Alistair was during a fight. Every bit of awkwardness melted away into deadly fluid movements, whereas Carver's motions were still choppy.  _That might be the new sword, though_. It didn't take long for Alistair's linen shirt to get damp with sweat, causing it to cling to his torso in all the right places. Corded muscles moved seamlessly from one maneuver to another as if they had a mind of their own. After several long minutes, Alistair stopped the practice to show Carver some blocking tips. Aspasia realized she had been staring at Alistair for way too long. Bethany was already practicing her Winter's Grasp spell over at Morrigan's tent. Aspasia jogged over to them. Morrigan was crouched down, digging for something in her pack.

"I think he's sweet on you, Aspasia," Morrigan offered without even looking up.

"I—really? You think so?" Aspasia stammered.

"Yes. Even I, who knows so little of this thing you call love, can see that there is something between you two. But I will warn you; do not let Elissa find out. She will probably try to kill you," Morrigan said nonchalantly. She rose from her crouched position, two lyrium potions in hand. She handed one to each Hawke sister.

"Why? Are she and Alistair an item? Related? What?" Aspasia's heart hammered, fearing what Morrigan's response might be.

The Witch of the Wilds' daughter threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, if only they were an item…alas, she  _thinks_ she is madly in love with him. He does not appear to realize it. Not surprising, considering he's dumber than the dog. Anyway, as one who was on the receiving end of her glares for the first few days of our travels, I figure the least I can do is to extend the warning."

Aspasia tilted her head, confused. "She… _thinks_ she's madly in love?"

Morrigan blinked calmly. "Yes. 'Tis the situation that's got her feeling this way. It must be so. I don't see how anyone could love that dingbat."

Aspasia smirked. "Oh, you have  _no_ idea, Morrigan."

"Riiiiight. I'll take your word for it, Aspasia. Now, if you and Bethany want my help, we ought get started in earnest, yes?"

"Yes! Finally!" Bethany shouted.

"Alright, here we go. I'm going to teach you both how to use Mind Blast. Ever try that?"

"Nope, Father never taught us any spells from that branch of magic." Aspasia answered.

"Oh good. This will be  _so_  much fun," Morrigan said sarcastically.

* * *

A few hours later, the Hawkes left the camp, waving and shouting fond farewells. They already had a standing date to return the following night. As she passed, Alistair grabbed Aspasia and reminded her that he wanted to spar with her as well.

"If you have leathers or other light armor, you might want to wear it," he cautioned. "It'll protect you just in case a blade flies loose or if you happen to hit the dirt particularly hard."

"Got it. I do have leathers. See you tomorrow!" Aspasia flashed a bright smile and turned to rejoin her siblings.

"I can't wait…" He murmured as he watched Aspasia walk away, a shy grin creeping across his face.


	5. Headache

" _Three more days in Lothering. Elissa Cousland. Is. A. Raging. BITCH. On a side note, Morrigan is pretty great and I think she is going to teach me how to shapeshift tomorrow. Suck it, Bethany! Oh…and I totally kissed Alistair! Kind of bittersweet though, knowing we only have a few days together…but still…to finally have my first kiss…it was amazing."_

"D'awwwww. She didn't get kissed until she was 19? I would've never guessed our little Hawke was such an innocent. Well, if she had stayed with Alistair, she would never have made it to Kirkwall. Funny how one little thing turns into a big thing. Butterfly effect, or so they call it."  _Hmph._  Varric kept poring over Hawke's words.

* * *

The day was literally crawling by; Aspasia only had one hour left of her shift at the Tavern, but it was taking its sweet time in passing. The early shift was always the toughest; with hardly any patrons, the shift was filled less with bantering customers and more with menial tasks like making sure  _all_ the vomit in the corner was cleaned up.

_Maker, how can one hour take so looonnnnng?_

After what seemed like an eternity, Aspasia's replacement arrived and she was able to high-tail it back to the Hawke residence so she could get into her gear. For the past three nights, she and her siblings had gone out to Alistair's camp on the edge of Lothering to train for their impending departure. It hadn't all been hard work, though. During the past few days some strong bonds had started to form. Alistair and Carver were getting along like brothers. Bethany had started to get Elissa to talk more, and Aspasia was finding Morrigan's wit nearly irresistible. As far as progress was concerned, Carver was really getting the feel for Smithy's sword and holding his own against the Grey Warden much more easily. Last night, Elissa had joined in and Carver was able to manage facing two fighters instead of one. Bethany was making progress in her ability to focus her magic, but not quickly enough for Morrigan to feel comfortable teaching her more advanced spells. Instead, she taught Bethany some potion recipes last night and had tasked her with preparing dozens of potions for their respective journeys.

The Hawke trio made their way out to the camp again, gifts in hand. Aspasia had picked up a gold chain for Morrigan, Carver had a cheese wheel for Alistair, and Bethany had baked some cookies for Elissa. Leandra had sent along a bag of Mabari crunch for Barky so he wouldn't feel left out. The gifts were received gladly, and the nightly training rituals began.

Aspasia and Bethany were trying their best to learn the advanced Cone of Cold spell. Aspasia felt like she had a pretty good handle on it, but Bethany was struggling as usual.

As Bethany continued to work on her focus, Morrigan pulled Aspasia aside. "Usually I would refrain from teaching shapeshifting to a mage as inexperienced as you, and whom I have known for such a short time," she started. "But, you show great potential. Flemeth always told me that I would instinctively know who would be worthy of the shapeshifting ability. I believe you will use it wisely. We will devote tomorrow's session to it. Tonight, however, let us get poor Bethany able to cast this Cone of Cold? She is excellent with potions, but you will need her to have basic offensive spells if you are to survive your travels."

Aspasia nodded her assent and approached her little sister to provide reassurance. Bethany, however, had let her temper get too far away from her. As soon as Aspasia wrapped her arm around her shoulder, Bethany released her Mind Blast, sending Aspasia flying through the air. She landed on the ground—the top of her head smacking against a softball sized rock—with a hard  _thud_. Carver and Alistair stopped their sparring, both whipping their heads in the direction of the noise.

"Aspasia!" Alistair yelled, as he and Carver ran to where she had landed. The force of the landing had knocked all of the breath out of her lungs. As she desperately attempted to get a deep breath—any kind of breath, really—she noticed that her head hurt. Badly. A warm sensation was flooding down her face. As Alistair reached her, Aspasia was pulling her hand away from the top of her head, covered with blood. She saw the blood, recognized it as her own, and passed out.

After several minutes and much spellcasting by Morrigan and Bethany, Aspasia woke. Alistair, Carver, Bethany, and Morrigan all were standing over her. "How long was I out?" She asked weakly.

"Maybe two or three minutes. Maker, Aspasia, you scared us. There was so much blood!" Carver sobbed.  _It must have been bad if Carver was worried._

"'Twas nothing a spell couldn't fix. The scalp is quite vascular. The tiniest nick will make it look like you are bleeding to death," Morrigan offered. "In other words, you are fine. The scar shall make for wonderful tales to tell your children someday."

"Thank you, Morrigan," Aspasia whispered.

Morrigan smirked, casting a sidelong glance at Bethany. "Thank Bethany. I believe we have found her true talent. She has quite the aptitude for healing, even more so than potions."

"Oh thank the Maker," Aspasia gasped. "I thought we'd never find what she was good at!"

"HEY. I'm right here!" Bethany put her hands on her hips, lower lip jutting out.

Aspasia grinned widely. " _Oops_. What I  _meant_  to say was that was the best Mind Blast you've ever done!"

The rest of the party returned to their previous activities, while Alistair had stayed behind. He helped Aspasia stand, saying nothing. He didn't need to. His concerned face was all she needed to see. He took her hand, threading his fingers with hers tentatively as they walked towards the bonfire at the center of camp. As they approached, their entwined digits did  _not_ escape the notice of Elissa. Her face blanched white as she ducked into her tent.

_All's fair in love and war, but why do I kinda feel badly for her?_

Alistair noticed Elissa's quick exit but didn't seem fazed, shrugging off her behavior as if it were typical. After a couple of moments passed, he realized that they were still holding hands. He reluctantly released her hand and gestured for Aspasia to sit on the log closest to the fire. Alistair stepped over to his tent, grabbing a clean cloth from his pack. He took the kettle of water that was perched over the campfire and poured it over the cloth, letting it cool for a moment before wringing it out. He sat beside Aspasia and started tenderly dabbing away the drying blood with the warm, wet cloth.

Alistair sighed heavily. "She was like this when we first met Morrigan," he mumbled. "I think she  _likes_  me but…I dunno…I mean, I just don't know if I feel anything for her beyond friendship."

Aspasia's eyes widened slightly, surprised at his willingness to talk about Elissa's obvious jealousy problem. "Well, you can't force what you don't feel. If you don't reciprocate, don't fake it. You two have a hard row to hoe; don't make it worse with forced feelings. It's best to clear the air and move forward," she offered. It didn't matter what she felt for Alistair at that moment; Aspasia recognized that the Grey Wardens' task was far too important for something as petty as a lovers' quarrel. She had to do what she could to make sure that Alistair and Elissa would be able to work together to stop the Blight, to stop Teryn Loghain.

Alistair nodded slowly, brows furrowed. "I kind of feel like...whatever this is…that it's because of the situation, and not me, y'know? She just lost her whole family and was joined into the Grey Wardens on top of that. I'm literally all she has right now. I wonder if that isn't the driving force?"

"It definitely could be, but you are quite the fetching prize," Aspasia teased, dancing her fingers on Alistair's knee. She couldn't help it; the blonde was simply too irresistible.

Alistair paused, his hand still holding the wet cloth against Aspasia's cheek, and swallowed hard. "Uh… _really_?"

"You  _know_ you're handsome, Alistair. Even when you were covered in blood in the Chantry, I could see it."

The Warden let out a puff of air as he pulled the wet cloth away from Aspasia, bringing his hands to rest in his lap. "Wow. Just…wow. Really? I—I've never really had someone  _say_  that to me before. Thank you."

"Nobody's ever told you how handsome you are?"

Alistair slowly ran his free hand back and forth through his cropped blonde hair, which glinted red in the firelight. "Well, I was…it's a long story, for another time. We'll just say I was given to the Chantry at an early age, and groomed to be a Templar from there. There weren't really any opportunites for me to come across such beautiful ladies who might nearly kill me with their sweet words," he gushed. His ears were already a deep shade of pink.

"Well, it's certainly not my intent to kill you, Alistair," Aspasia said coyly, "unless you can make a person blush to death."

"That's not what I meant." Alistair's entire face turned pink.

"Oh, I know. I'm just teasing you. I do love how you blush when I tease you." Aspasia gave a shy, slow grin, meeting Alistair's amber eyes. He blinked slowly, eyes heavy-lidded.

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times as if he wanted to say something. Finally he blurted, "Oh Maker, this is too fast, but I have to ask..."

"Are you—sweating? Is there something you need, dear Alistair?"

A look of desperate exasperation crossed his face. "May…I… _kiss_  you?" He gasped.

"Of course. I thought you'd never ask," Aspasia giggled, closing her eyes and pursing her lips.

Alistair started to lean in tentatively, when all of a sudden Elissa rushed from her tent towards the couple, pushing Aspasia back so that she fell off of the log. Elissa stood over her, daggers drawn, cheeks red and stained with tears. Alistair jumped to his feet, grabbing Elissa by the waist and yanking her away from the fallen mage. The sudden movement caused her to drop her daggers, which stuck themselves in the dirt on either side of Aspasia's head. All three sets of eyes grew as large as saucers at the near-miss.

Elissa was not deterred from her rage. Her shrieks could probably be heard back at the Tavern in town. "What the  _fuck_  do you think you're doing? Who do you think you are? You're in  _MY_  camp! You're receiving  _MY_ hospitality! And what do you do? You try to steal all of my friends and then try to make out with  _MY_ man! I think you need to get out of here, Aspasia, and  _don't come back._ "

Aspasia slowly rose, straightening her leathers, not breaking her glare at Elissa as she dusted off her rear. Elissa wriggled out of Alistair's grasp, took his hand roughly, and tried to pull him aside, but he dug in his heels.

"No, Elissa. I'm not going anywhere. You're out of line. Apologize." Alistair's voice was firm and commanding.

"But… _Alistair…_ I can't say this here…with her…" Elissa trailed off.

"Ellie, I know what you're going to say…" Alistair sighed, shoulders drooping. "And I'm sorry to say that at this time I do not reciprocate. I know it's not what you want to hear, but-"

Elissa threw down his hand and spat at Alistair, missing him, as she spun around and stormed off into the shadows.

Alistair stepped back to Aspasia and sighed. "I'm sorry you had to be part of that. Are you alright?" Alistair's brows were knotted in a mix of concern and frustration.

"Fine, though my arse is going to have some funny bruises between Beth and Elissa," Aspasia chuckled. "I do think that perhaps it's best if I go, though. I'm not having a very good night. I'll see you tomorrow, Alistair. You two," Aspasia said, acknowledging that Carver and Bethany had come to see what the commotion was about, "feel free to stay and keep working. I just want to get a hot bath."

Alistair looked like a forlorn puppy. "Oh, alright…if you think it best…are you okay to walk by yourself?"

"Yes. It's not far, and I'll take Barky, if you don't mind. I need to clear my head anyway. Thank you, and good night," Aspasia whispered, as she took Alistair's hand and gave it a squeeze. She turned and started for home, making the journey quickly.

Aspasia was in the process of heating water for her bath when she heard a soft knock on the door.  _It's a little late for visitors…probably Elissa come to finish me off with my luck._ She double-checked her robe to make sure she was sufficiently covered and approached the door. When she opened it, she found Alistair, a frantic expression on his face. His eyes pleaded with hers, and neither one said a word as his hands cupped Aspasia's cheeks, pulling her towards him as he planted a delicate kiss on her lips at last, becoming more insistent as his confidence grew. Aspasia wrapped her arms around his neck and melted into his embrace.  _Maker, thank you…_

Alistair finally pulled away from Aspasia, panting. "I'm so sorry, but I just couldn't help it. That…was…better than anything I could have imagined. I hope it wasn't too forward of me to do that, even though back in camp you said it was okay," he sighed contentedly.

"You mean…that was your first kiss too?" Aspasia's eyes widened.  _Surely, this fine specimen of a man had enjoyed others before me…right? Oh yeah…Chantry…Templars…wow. He's not lying._

"Wait…you…we…oh, now  _that's_ funny!" Alistair giggled. "I thought I was following your lead!"

"I guess we're naturals?"

"I guess so," he murmured as he leaned in for another quick kiss. "Now…I know you've had a rough night, so I will leave you, but know that tomorrow I intend to _spar_ with you. Say you'll come back? I've talked to Elissa; she won't be doing anything like she pulled tonight again." Aspasia nodded silently. A triumphant glint flashed in Alistair's eyes as he smiled. He gently rubbed noses with Aspasia, planted a final kiss on her forehead, and returned to camp.

Aspasia stood in the open doorway for several minutes, emotions swirling. Finally, she pulled herself back to reality and finished drawing her bath. Her dreams that night were filled with images of the handsome Grey Warden, the palace at Denerim (she had never seen it but somehow she knew what it was), and a High Dragon. Aspasia's dreams often had elements of the prophetic, but she did not know what to make of these images.  _Only time will tell, I guess._


	6. Heartache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FYI: This chapter has a few tweaks from the original posted on FF.net.

" _So sad. Alistair and his companions left this morning for Redcliffe. We are leaving tomorrow. I'm glad I got to spend time with them; Bethany and I learned a lot from Morrigan, and Carver feels much more confident about his blade skills. I can now turn myself into a rat. Whee. How thrilling. Well, I suppose I should get packing. Probably won't have time to write in this thing much until we get to Highever."_

"A rat? I wonder if she ever shifted into that and spied on any of us…nawww, Hawke was above that espionage-type stuff…or was she?" Varric cast a sidelong glance at a rat sitting up on its hindquarters just outside the door to his suite that had been just sitting there…watching him...for Maker knows how long. He shuddered and returned to his reading.

* * *

Aspasia was busying herself with sorting through piles of the family's meager possessions. The Hawke cottage was nearly completely packed up, but very little of the contents would be making the long journey. Most items would be sold or given away, some would be locked away in the in-ground vault to await their eventual return, and the balance of what didn't fit in their packs would be left for scavengers. The full gravity of the situation had not fully hit her yet; it still didn't seem real that tomorrow morning would be the last time she saw the sun rise over Lothering. At least she didn't have to go to work today. Yesterday's shift at the tavern had been her last. Aspasia intended to stop by later today to pick up her last pouch of coin and would not miss being around all those drunken boors.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her efforts. Aspasia stood up, brushing herself down to smooth her simple linen pants and tunic, which were rumpled by her constant movement. She quickly wiped her sweaty face with her handkerchief and answered the door.

A very solemn Alistair stood on the other side of the oak door. He glared at the ground and cleared his throat. "Aspasia, good morning," he started, hoarsely. "As you're aware, we are heading for Redcliffe this morning. I wanted to stop by and wish you farewell…and give you this." He handed Aspasia a perfect red rose, its petals unblemished, heady scent wafting gently as she brought the bloom to her nose and inhaled deeply.

"Thank you, Alistair," Aspasia whispered, tears welling in her eyes, "I wish we could travel with you."

"As do I, but we are pursuing the darkspawn, whereas you need to escape it. Promise me you  _will_  escape it, Aspasia. I need you to let me know when you make it safely to Highever." A pained expression twisted Alistair's face.

Aspasia nodded fervently. "I will get a message to you somehow, as soon as I am able."

"Send it to Redcliffe, to the Arl. Arl Eamon is a friend of mine, and Redcliffe will serve as a base for us of sorts until everything with Loghain and the Blight is resolved."

"Arl of Redcliffe. Got it." Aspasia gave a weak salute as she grinned and winked towards the stern warrior.

Alistair cocked his head in exasperation, unsure if she really understood just how dangerous her journey would be. "I'm serious, Aspasia.  _I need to know_. I don't know what I would do if I found out anything bad came to you or your family."

Aspasia relaxed, growing more serious. "You have my word, Alistair. I will send a message as soon as we reach somewhere safe where we can stay for a while. We  _will_  return to Lothering as soon as we can, though."

Alistair sighed. "You know if the Blight actually comes through here, it will be years before the village is habitable, right?"

Aspasia gave him a quizzical look. "Um, no, I didn't. Why so?"

 _She really doesn't know how much danger she is in…_ "Well, the darkspawns' taint sheds from them constantly. You know how if you get cut and their blood touches yours, that's a bad thing right?" Aspasia nodded slowly and Alistair continued, "The taint spoils the land, the plants, the water…if you came back too soon and got it into your bloodstream somehow…you would die of Blight sickness, just as if their blood touched yours. So honestly…stay away from Lothering. I know you grew up here…but I wouldn't count on being able to come back for many, many years."

"Oh." Aspasia whispered softly, looking at the ground and shuffling her bare feet. This was going to be far, far more dangerous than she ever imagined. "Well…in that case…can I give you something, as a promise, until we see each other again?"

Alistair's heart skipped a beat at the word  _until._ He was grateful that at least one of them had such blindness to the reality of the Blight…it made the situation a bit easier to bear.  _Until. Like we're going to get together for drinks at the tavern next week. Bless her heart_. "Anything. You know that," he murmured.

Aspasia walked over to the dining table, rifling through a small wooden box of trinkets. She pulled out an amulet, shaped like a hawk, strung on a medium weight gold-link chain. Pressing it into the Grey Warden's hand, she clasped her small hands around his larger mitt and mumbled something under her breath.

"What was that, Aspasia? I didn't catch what you said."

"It was—I was saying that this was my father's amulet. It will aid your strength and stamina. I was going to leave this locked up in the vault here, but I'd like you to have it…as a reminder of me," Aspasia murmured, the reality of this moment becoming more serious with each passing moment.  _I really won't ever see him again, will I, Maker? You gave me this perfect man, and now are snatching him away._

Alistair looked at the necklace in his hand, shocked at the intimacy of the gift. "And I just gave you a silly little rose. This is hardly a fair exchange, my dear."

"It's not silly," Aspasia said as she held up the bloom, gazing at it intently. She raised her free hand and wiggled her fingers. With a small sparkle, the rose appeared to stiffen, remaining in its state of perfect fullness, its deep red petals contrasting with the pair of glossy green leaves on the stem. "There. Now it is…eternal. At least until either I or someone else breaks the enchantment."

She looked up to see Alistair holding her father's hawk pendant up to the light and inspecting the detailed bird intensely. "May I?" Aspasia asked, and Alistair handed the necklace to her. She unfastened the clasp as he turned around. Fixing the amulet's clasp once it rested around his smooth neck, Aspasia couldn't help herself; she ran her fingers lightly up the back of his neck and into his golden hair, eliciting a visible shudder from Alistair. He spun around, locking eyes with her. Alistair bent down, brushing his lips against hers gently.

Before either of them knew it, the kiss had grown frantic, with Aspasia wrapping her arms around his neck as he seized her waist. He picked her up and Aspasia threw her legs around his waist as he gripped her bottom. Alistair stumbled over to the writing desk, never breaking their kiss, where he planted Aspasia, running his hands up her back and into her messy bun. He caught hold of her hair tie and pulled it free, allowing her locks to tumble loose. One hand ran up into her hair, tugging her head gently backward to expose her throat. The other slid back down to her lower back as Alistair pulled Aspasia forward. He trailed feather-light kisses down her chin and onto her throat. Pressing his hips against her insistently, Alistair grew more aggressive, nipping at Aspasia's neck and groaning with pleasure at her delighted sighs.

He wanted her more than anything; he knew he may never get the chance to have her again. He moaned deeply as he buried his face at the base of her neck. _I don't care if I've only known her for a couple of weeks...it's like the Maker has given her to me. I need her...I need to know there is someone to return to at the end of all this..._

"Please tell me that we're alone," he panted against Aspasia's neck, his hot breath causing her to shiver. "I don't know about you, but I--"

"We're not. Carver's upstairs and Mother's in the garden," she moaned. "But I think we can get away with this if we're quick…" Aspasia trailed off as one hand worked its way between them, inching down to his waist.

_Alistair, you idiot. You've forgotten what Sebastian told you...if you're crazy for this girl...take the time to do things right. She deserves to be bedded properly, not like a tavern wench…if this is the best you can do, then wait._

Alistair stopped suddenly, pulling himself away from Aspasia. She grunted her displeasure and looked into his eyes, which were clouded with lust and regret.

"Why did you stop?" Aspasia gasped.

"I—we—shouldn't…not here, not like this. I want this--when it happens--to be special, my dear. I want it to be right—I don't want you to be disrespected or dishonored in any way. You deserve no less. I want to take my time, not race through it just because I'm leaving. But  _Maker,_  you are so beautiful. It almost seems like a sin to  _not_  do this now…please forgive me, Aspasia. I just…care so much for you." Alistair tried his best to appear resolute, but Aspasia could tell that the hormones within him were waging desperate battle.

"I understand, Alistair, and thank you for being such a gentleman. Most men would not be able to exercise such restraint, especially in the face of this Blight."

Alistair released a huge breath and ran his hand through his hair. "Besides, I really ought to get going…I was only supposed to stop by quickly. I'm holding up our progress now. Hopefully we can still make it halfway to Redcliffe by nightfall. And when I lay down my head, I will dream of nothing but you, I swear it...tonight and every night until we can be together again."

"Of course. I'll be dreaming of you, too. Please, please,  _please_ be careful, love." Aspasia's eyes locked with Alistair's, her pleading gaze burning into his.

"I will, sweetheart. You do the same. Take good care of your family, and I hope to hear from you soon. Oh, by the way, I brought a couple of things that I thought you could use. I set them outside the door. A little something for everybody!" The handsome blonde winked and grinned, helping Aspasia down from the writing desk and engulfing her in a strong embrace. He planted a kiss on the top of her head, then on her forehead, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. He held her for just a few moments longer, before reluctantly releasing her and exiting with a whispered farewell.

Perhaps it was for the best that Alistair had departed so quickly, to lessen the hurt. And it did hurt. Aspasia went through the motions for the rest of the day, but thoughts of the Grey Warden never ceased for a moment. Tears threatened frequently, and fell occasionally, which was unusual for her.

The last family dinner at the Hawke residence was quiet and tense. Little was spoken, but much was said in the expressions that the four souls bore towards each other. Sidelong glances, trembling fingers, shortened breaths, gnawed fingernails all told of the nervousness that had seized the family. Aspasia, having scribbled her daily journal entry some time before, lay awake in her bed for hours, unable to sleep. As much as she worried for herself, she worried for Alistair and his companions…even Elissa. She finally drifted off into fitful sleep, dreaming of darkspawn, ogres, and a high dragon.


	7. Sideache

" _First day on the move. The weather is cooperating so far but we're traveling slow due to Mother. If we stay at this crawl, we will definitely NOT have enough coin to get to Highever. We haven't seen any darkspawn yet, but the little farms we pass through all claimed to see them from time to time. I hope the new spells Morrigan taught me will help. She also gave us some supplies that she didn't have room to take with her; some lyrium potions and a couple of extra robes that she didn't want. Carver got a really nice set of boots from Alistair. I got a really dirty look from Elissa. Everybody wins?"_

"Highever. Now I  _know_  they never made it to Highever. They came here from somewhere else…can't remember the name of the place, though. I wonder where they got sidetracked?"

* * *

By the position of the sun, Aspasia reckoned it was perhaps 5 o'clock. They should have stopped at least an hour ago, but Leandra's plodding pace had kept the Hawkes from making the kind of progress they needed to in order to reach the next farm, where they would surely have found shelter. Since Aspasia knew they wouldn't make it before nightfall, she had started keeping an eye open for suitable camping spots. The Hawkes' first night on the run would be spent out in the open.

Leandra Hawke had always had a soft spot for nature, and being out in the open land with all of its varied flora and fauna had been continually pulling her attention all day. She had managed to gather many wild edibles, which would reduce the amount of preserved foodstuffs that would need to be eaten tonight, but overall her constant stopping to inspect a flower or leaf quickly put them behind their travel schedule.

Carver and Bethany had been bickering for the last two hours over Maker-knows-what. Aspasia had stopped pretending to care at least an hour ago. Suddenly, she spotted a good place to make camp; it was obviously used before based on the existing fire pit and cleared brush. A fallen tree lay on the ground nearby, with many branches still small enough to break by hand easily.

"Here. We will camp here for the night, and make  _double time progress_  tomorrow, won't we,  _Mother_?" Aspasia hissed, glaring at her mother, who had once again straggled behind to look at a rock.

Leandra noticed her daughter's glare and jogged to catch up. "Yes, dear. Again, I apologize. It's just been so long since I've been out of Lothering on foot—you just don't see this stuff when you travel in a carriage. At least I contributed to the evening meal, right," she huffed.

"Aye, that's true, Mum," Aspasia conceded.

The Hawkes quickly set out their bedrolls. Carver and Aspasia went to gather wood and fetch water, while Leandra and Bethany started to prepare the wild edibles for the soup pot. On the way back to the camp, Carver's quick reflexes snared them a fat grouse, which would make an excellent addition to the meal. They ate quickly, silently, taking care to dispose of the scraps far away from the camp so as to not rouse other, more aggressive, wild animals.

Carver took the first watch for the night. He struggled to stay awake; the day's travels had taken a lot out of him as he wasn't used to walking so much yet. He heard a twig snap, and a weird, skipping growly noise. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his pupils blew open, and his heart started to race as instinct started to kick in. He quietly shuffled over to Aspasia, nudging her arm with the toe of his boot.

"Sister," he hissed quietly.

Aspasia stirred, grumbling softly. "What?"

"I hear a funny noise. Get up." Carver stalked silently toward the source of the sound, perhaps ten feet outside of their little camp.

Aspasia quickly shook off the weight of slumber and grabbed her staff. She, too, heard the odd growling noise. Nearly as soon as she joined Carver's side, a genlock rogue materialized beside her, taking her by surprise. The darkspawn slashed at her ribs quickly, making contact and causing Aspasia to howl in pain. Carver shot over and struck at the creature with an overhand swing, connecting with its skull, killing it. Tainted blood sprayed as Carver withdrew his blade and the corpse slumped to the ground. Brother and sister dragged the body away from the camp once they were sure this was a solo striker. It took a few moments for Aspasia to realize that they were both covered with darkspawn blood.

"To the river! Hurry! We must wash this blood off!" Aspasia grabbed Carver's hand and ran to the rushing water. She grabbed a sizeable, distinctly bluish rock and put it at the water's edge. "Here. We shan't take water for drinking down from this point. Above it is fine; but below and we run the risk of leftover taint being in the water, OK?"

Carver nodded, and they both plunged into the cold water down river of Aspasia's marker rock. They scrubbed furiously at eyes, ears, noses, and mouths to ensure that no taint worked its way in. At last, they slogged out of the water and stood on the shore to drip dry for a few moments before heading back to warm themselves in front of the fire. Once they reached camp, they discovered that a raccoon had made itself at home in one of the food packs. It skittered away as they approached and Aspasia cursed to herself, knowing that she should have woken Bethany to watch over things while she and Carver cleaned up.

"I've got next, Carver. Get some sleep." Aspasia said, inspecting the pack for damage and missing items. The raccoon hadn't gotten much, and hadn't damaged the pack too badly in the process. They were lucky.

"You got it, sister. Are you sure you're OK? That slash looks kind of nasty."

"I'll have Beth fix it in the morning."

Carver laid back, quickly falling asleep. Aspasia grabbed a health potion and drained it in one gulp, feeling the warming tingle of healing as it coursed through her. She dug into her pocket and pulled out the garnet that she found on the genlock's body.  _If we have more finds like this when looting, we'll actually make money before we get to Highever!_ Then Aspasia dug out the preserved rose that Alistair had given her the day before, comparing the red petals to the blood-red gem. She clutched the rose to her chest and sighed, silently praying that Alistair and his companions were making good progress.


	8. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death.

" _This has been a week for the ages. First we leave Lothering, and now Bethany is gone. I cannot believe I just wrote those words. The ogre just snapped her up and it was over, just like that. Mother and Carver are blaming me, because I took my eyes off of her and let her run off. But Bethany was eighteen and perfectly capable of making decisions on her own…I understand…they have to put their grief somewhere. I can handle it. Met a nice couple today, Aveline and Ser Wesley Vallen. They are traveling with us now…strength in numbers. We've been skirting Lake Calenhad; Mother figures we might be about a day and a half's walk away from the Tower. Bethany always started getting nervous when she thought about being that close to it…"_

Varric had no words as he read the entry. Hawke didn't talk about Bethany much; she certainly didn't mention the circumstances in which she died. He had no idea that the Hawke family didn't even get a chance to give their Bethany a proper burial. He vaguely remembered Carver mentioning something about how he could always sense Bethany when she was still alive. He couldn't imagine how badly it hurt the younger Hawke when his twin was ripped from him. Was it fair that Leandra and Carver blamed Aspasia? Not really. But Varric, like Aspasia, understood that grief had to be placed somewhere. Hawke had apparently always had the ability to shoulder everybody else's burdens. She really was an amazing woman.

* * *

" _Maker's breath_ , Carver, would you just  _shut up_  already? I told you, the map says we should be coming up on a fork in the road soon, and we will continue heading  _North_. Mother says it's probably the safest route to Highever," Aspasia grumbled.

"And I'm telling you, Aspasia, that we should take the East fork,  _not_  continue North. We need to start making our way East at some point, and the Bannorn is full of little hamlets and farms for us to replenish ourselves at. I think it's a far better option than trying to sneak our way past the Circle Tower. How many options will we have if we stick to the North?" Carver demanded.

"I agree with Carver. I want to stay away from the Circle Tower," Bethany chimed in, eyes wide with worry.

"Enough, children," Leandra bellowed. "We will head North. There are places to replenish along the road, Carver. Trust me."

"But Mother, the  _Circle_ ," Bethany whined.

"I'm aware of your concern, Bethany. But the darkspawn tend to not seek out  _Templars_. If we go close enough…perhaps the darkspawn will have been deterred from making inroads there. I think it's a bit safer than the openness of the Bannorn. For all we know, that's already been overrun."

"Fine," Bethany and Carver spat. Aspasia assumed a superior smug as the four Hawkes continued along the path.

The fork was a large clearing, which meant that Leandra would have virtually no place to hide if things should take a negative turn, which generally seemed to be their luck when they came to features like this. They had no sooner crossed the central part of the clearing when a half-dozen darkspawn leapt out from behind the large boulders. Bethany grabbed Leandra by the hand, dragging her off to the side and casting a protective glyph around her. Aspasia cast firestorm while Carver sliced and diced the undead minions. It seemed to be over quickly enough. Perhaps a bit too quickly, really. Aspasia looked at Bethany, who released their mother and scowled.

"I never get to do any fighting!" The raven-haired mage stomped her feet petulantly.

"Bethany, you're a protector and healer. We need you to keep doing what you do because that's what you're best at. If you're in the middle of the fighting, how can you tell when Carver or I need your spells?" Aspasia offered. It didn't help. Bethany was resolved to take charge during their next fight. She would prove herself capable of directing the battle tactics. If Aspasia could do it, so could she.

Bethany Hawke didn't have to wait long to get her wish. A few moments later, a large ogre scrambled towards them from the East fork. Bethany, with no words, leapt up and charged the ogre alone. Aspasia, Carver, and Leandra were all too stunned as they watched the eighteen-year-old who could barely cast cone of cold get within arm's reach of the monster. Not skipping a beat, the ogre snatched Bethany up in a single hand, looking at her for a moment before squeezing her torso in his huge hand. Bethany went limp and the ogre threw her body to the ground. Her head flopped to face them, eyes lifeless, mouth agape as a rivulet of blood trickled from the corner.

Carver leapt into action first, thrusting his greatsword wildly at the beast. His blade found purchase, rupturing a main artery in the thigh. The ogre hit the dirt with a thud, the weight of his carcass causing the immediate vicinity to tremble as it did. Aspasia and Leandra scrambled to help Bethany, but more darkspawn descended upon them, quickly overwhelming by sheer numbers.

It was then that Aspasia started to notice a man and woman's shouting. She looked over to where the East path broke off and saw two people—one a Templar—fighting off darkspawn with carefully coordinated swings of sword and shield. Leandra scrambled to safety as Carver and Aspasia ran to help the pair. After what seemed like an eternity, scores of darkspawn lay dead around them as the four stood, panting. Leandra approached, guiding Aspasia and Carver over to Bethany at last. It was clear that she was dead before she hit the ground, but Aspasia did her best to try and heal her.

The male stranger approached the distraught Hawkes. "May I give her a blessing, m'lady?"

"By all means," Leandra whispered between sobs. She cradled Bethany's body in her arms. Her children stood aside as the Templar knelt down by Bethany, gently closing her eyes. He began to quickly recite a portion of the Chant:

"… _The Light shall lead her safely  
Through the paths of this world, and into the next.  
For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.  
As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,  
She should see fire and go towards Light.  
The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,  
And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker  
Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword…"_

The woman had now approached silently, bowing her head in respect. All were silent for several long moments. Aspasia broke the silence.

"Thank you…?" She trailed off, realizing that, of course, in the heat of battle, formalities had been ignored.

"Aveline Vallen. This is my husband, Ser Wesley. Trust me; we needed your skills too. It's been days since we've seen anybody who wasn't  _undead_." The woman's voice quivered slightly on the word  _undead_.

"Nice to meet you, Aveline. My name is Aspasia Hawke. This is my brother Carver, and my mother Leandra. She," Aspasia said, pausing as she looked sidelong down at her sister's corpse, "was my sister Bethany."

"I'm so sorry for your loss, serah," Wesley said, brows furrowing with concern.

"Thank you for blessing her, ser," Carver broke in.

It took Wesley a moment to recognize that a staff was strapped across Aspasia's back. He stiffened as he realized he was standing face-to-face with an apostate. Aveline noticed this and grabbed him, holding him back.

"Now Wesley, they helped us. We would certainly have died. Surely the Maker will understand if we allow this apostate her freedom…"

Aspasia snapped back to the reality of the situation. Yes, a Templar and mage had just worked together, side-by-side, but his duty still required him to take any apostate into custody. She tensed; there was nowhere she could run to get away. Fortune, it seemed, had run out on her today.

Wesley relaxed in Aveline's firm grip. "Fine. But I'm going to keep my eyes on you, mage. The first time I catch you using magic outside of battle, you're going to the Circle Tower."

Aspasia allowed herself a tiny sigh of relief. She could do that. "Agreed," she replied.

There was no time to chit-chat now. Wesley and Carver pulled Bethany's body off of the main path and into the small glen nearby, piling stones over her body. Leandra had gathered a sizeable bunch of wildflowers, including Andraste's Grace, and placed the bouquet on top of the stone pile. That would have to do for poor Bethany's mortal vessel. Surely her soul had already traveled to the Maker.

The party of five continued North after Aveline advised the path East was already overrun by darkspawn, just as Leandra had feared. Darkness came upon the group more quickly than they had noticed, the events of the day having left them rather disoriented. They set up camp in a small cave perhaps fifty feet off of the main road. That first dinner together was a quiet one. Leandra barely ate. Carver wolfed down his meal, so hungry that not even grief would dissuade his appetite. Aspasia picked at her food for a while before ultimately giving up on the process.

"She was a mage as well, Ser Wesley. A healer. She did a lot of good for a lot of people," Aspasia said suddenly.

"I saw her staff, yes," Wesley said, nodding slowly in acknowledgement. He wondered where Aspasia was going with this.

"You blessed her anyway?"

"Of course. I don't feel that mages are undeserving of the Maker's grace. I have simply seen too many maleficar to be able to fully trust those who possess magic." It was the truth; his father had been murdered by a blood mage. Countless comrades within the Order had fallen to the wickedness of mages. He had even heard stories of one who willingly took a spirit into his body, a walking abomination. Ser Wesley had joined the Order to control the mages; letting Aspasia remain free was a foreign concept to him. He had promised his beloved Aveline, however, that he would let this particular apostate remain free. She had earned that much by helping them earlier in the day and offering to travel together for safety.

"Fair enough, I suppose. For my part, I have yet to see a true malificar," Aspasia responded. She hoped the closest thing she would ever see to one had been Morrigan.

"You are young. You will see plenty of maleficar before this Blight is over," Wesley growled.

As Aspasia and Wesley continued talking about magic—their discussion remaining respectful—Aveline allowed herself to relax a bit. It was good for Wesley to finally meet a mage that wasn't bent on killing every Templar they laid eyes on. Mages did have their place in the world; they were creations of the Maker, after all. It wasn't right to condemn them for how they were made. Satisfied, she nestled down on her bedroll, sleep quickly taking her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ser Wesley's blessing comes from Transfigurations 10.


	9. The Amulet

" _Today was another epic…whatever. I'm already tired of being on the run, and there is no bloody end in sight. Aveline will be traveling with us until further notice. Met Morrigan's mom. That was…interesting. She dropped us off near Gwaren, which is pretty much exactly the opposite way that we wanted to go. Mother said from there we could go to Kirkwall and stay with her brother Gamlen. I don't know why she didn't suggest that to begin with, but I wasn't gonna ask after I saw the scowl on her face when she said his name. Anyway, they haven't seen any darkspawn there yet. Flemeth said the North had been overrun by darkspawn already so we would have never made it to Highever. I just have to deliver this little amulet to some lady on Sundermount in return for Flemeth's help."_

"I knew she ended up here because of the Blight, but Hawke never said anything about Flemeth. Come to think of it, there is a lot I don't know about Hawke. Secretive little thing." Varric patted the splayed tome gently. "I bet you're going to fill a lot of that in, aren't you, my precious?"

* * *

Aspasia and Aveline stood over the dying Ser Wesley. Aspasia cringed; she could literally see the taint working its way through his veins. It was only a matter of time before he went mad with it. Either he would turn into one of them and, in turn, attack his companions, or he would die most horrifically. Behind them, the gravelly voice of the old Witch of the Wilds attempted to justify the unthinkable.

"There is no cure, unless you happen to know of a Grey Warden nearby that could quickly attempt a Joining Ritual," Flemeth said, knowing full-well that the nearest Wardens were at least two days' march to the East, right in the thick of the Blight as they approached the Brecilian Forest.  _Exactly where I told them to go._

"No…not nearby," Aspasia mumbled. Aveline cast a sidelong glance at the young woman, whose eyes shone with tears like hers, though, she suspected, they were for a very different reason.

"Then you have no choice, girl. You cannot leave him like this—you  _shouldn't_ ," Flemeth cautioned.

"She-she's right…Aveline…I can…feel it coursing through me. You know as well as I that Blight sickness is one of the worst...please…if you love me…" Wesley was fighting for every word, trailing off as Aveline pressed a finger to his lips in a shushing motion.

"Wesley, my love…please don't ask this…" Aveline was fighting hard to not cry. She didn't want to appear weak in this moment. She didn't want to let Wesley know how very scared she was.

"Aveline, do what you think is best," Aspasia whispered. "I'm not here to force your hand." She gave the red-haired warrior a soft, sympathetic look.

Wesley used what little strength he had left to pull his sword from the scabbard, placing it right below his sternum. He took his other hand and gingerly took Aveline's, placing it on the grip. Tears spilled from her eyes as she nodded solemnly, firmly grasping the sword.

"I'm so sorry, Wesley, my love. Maker take you…" Aveline plunged the sword home. Wesley gave one good gasp, seizing briefly, before his body went limp as life left it. Aveline swept a hand over his eyes, closing the lids, and pulled the sword from his torso. She looked at it for a long time, twisting the blade and watching her husband's blood reflect the sunlight. Finally, the warrior dropped the blade, stumbling away to the nearby creek and walking straight into the lazy current. She plopped down in the stream, which was shallow enough that her head and shoulders were still above the surface, and splashed her face with the water repeatedly, sobbing loudly.

Carver picked up Wesley's sword and shield. He went downstream from Aveline, hiding behind a small outcrop of rock, and washed the equipment. He polished the sword with sand over and over until he was satisfied that not a speck of Wesley's blood remained on it.

Aspasia walked into the water and leaned over Aveline, stroking her hair softly, murmuring words of comfort. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally convinced the warrior to get up and get out of the water. Carver came around with Wesley's equipment. Aveline smiled weakly, acknowledging Carver's thoughtful gesture. She put down her own sword and shield, never again to use them. She would fight with her husband's gear now; she would avenge him.

Leandra returned from the nearby field with a handful of Andraste's Grace, which she placed on Wesley's chest lovingly just as she had for her darling Bethany. She stroked the Templar's rapidly-cooling cheek tenderly, as though Wesley had been her son. She quickly glanced at Carver, and hoped like the Void that she would never have to see her little boy like this.  _Maker, please…you have my Bethy…please let me keep my two other babies…_

Flemeth watched the scene unfold before her. It never ceased to amaze her how humans could vary in how they handled death and suffering. This was a particularly touching one.

"My offer of transport to Gwaren stands, if you still wish to flee the Blight. Your warrior friend can hitch a ride as well," Flemeth said.

"Do we…have to leave him in the open like this?" Aveline muttered, shaking her head as tried hard not to envision Wesley's exposed body being left to the ravages of nature.

"Well…is cremation against his beliefs?" Flemeth asked. "I could…give you closure."

Aveline's eyes perked up a bit. "Yes, he would not be opposed to being cremated. If you would do that for me, Witch, I would do a favor for you."

"Simply make sure that Hawke completes the task of taking my amulet to Sundermount. If something should happen to her, complete it yourself," Flemeth offered.

"I will be glad to do it," Aveline replied.

Flemeth cautioned the group to step back as she shifted into her high dragon form. She approached Wesley's corpse, which had been lain against a pile of rocks in a semi-propped up position, arms folded across the bouquet of Andraste's Grace that Leandra had gathered. The dragon—Flemeth—looked over at Aveline, who nodded her assent. Silently, Flemeth let loose a huge fire blast, instantly setting the body ablaze. The flames were so bright that the group couldn't have watched the body burn even if they wanted to. Flemeth's efforts worked so well that even Wesley's armor was destroyed, pooling into a molten mass with a lyrium runestone floating to the top. For good measure (and to help curb the spread of the Blight), Flemeth cast her flaming breath over the dead darkspawn surrounding them, charring all the bodies beyond recognition, melting most of the equipment that Aspasia had deemed worthless. After several long moments, Flemeth extinguished her flame and stepped back, smoke rising out of her nostrils.

While Flemeth had been incinerating her Wesley (and the dead darkspawn), Aveline grabbed a flat piece of wood, hustled over to the creek, and soaked it in the water before she approached the still-smoldering pile of ash, molten metal, and lyrium runes that had been her husband. She scooped up the runestone and some of the surrounding metal with the wet wood. Before it could cool too much, she dared to grab a handful of the still-quite-warm ashes and sprinkled them over top. They sank into the metal quickly as it started to congeal into a medallion-like mass. Aveline tilted her head, then grabbed a small twig, putting it through the metal to create a hole for a chain or length of leather cord. She smiled dryly as she watched the metal cool further, knowing she would wear this on her person from this day forward.

Aspasia had watched Aveline as she attempted to salvage some piece of Wesley. She fumbled in her pack, producing a silverite chain that she had grabbed off of a corpse on their second day of travels. It would have fetched a decent enough price in town, but Aspasia felt it would mean more to Aveline than whatever the few silvers it fetched could buy. She waited until the warrior returned, cradling the bundle of wet wood, rapidly solidifying metal, lyrium, and ash in her hands.

"I found this a few days ago, Aveline. Could you use this? It looks like you've managed to make yourself a fine amulet there."

Aveline looked down at her bundle. She had, without really even thinking about it, crafted an amulet of silverite and lyrium, with a protective rune etched into the glowing blue stone. The ashes she had sprinkled over top of the metal had settled into it and created a elegant burled pattern throughout the silverite. The effect was quite striking; even a seasoned metalsmith would have had a hard time creating such a pretty amulet.

"Thanks, Hawke. I guess I did make a pretty 'shiny,' didn't I?" Aveline tried to chuckle. The metal was cool enough now for her to plunge it into the stream. A slight hiss heralded the amulet's entry into the cool water. Aveline left it there for several moments to finish cooling. She pulled the finished product out of the water and pulled it from the wooden makeshift scoop, scrubbing the back on the sand to rid the metal of any wood residue. The small twig had simply, gradually, burned away, leaving a hole just big enough for Hawke's chain to pass through. Aveline strung the amulet and fastened it around her neck. It was still plenty warm, nearly uncomfortably so, but Aveline wouldn't mind if it burned her.

At long last, the four gathered up their things and made their way over to Flemeth, still in high dragon form. The Witch of the Wilds had laid herself out as low as possible, indicating that her rear leg would make an adequate step for the humans to use. All four got on her back, settling between spines, which they used to hold on to. Flemeth took flight as they watched the road get smaller and smaller, the extent of the Blight becoming clear as the dragon swooped over Ferelden. It was nearly nightfall when she landed on a high bluff overlooking Gwaren. The four humans climbed off of Flemeth's back and stretched in various ways as they put their feet back on solid ground. A bright flash indicated that the Witch had shifted back to her humanoid form.

"And here is your package, girl," Flemeth oozed as she handed her amulet to Aspasia for delivery. "Please do make sure it reaches Keeper Marethari safely. I'd hate to see what might happen if it ended up in the wrong hands."

"You have my word, Flemeth," Aspasia vowed. "A Hawke promise is a promise kept."

"I'm glad to hear it," the old woman cackled. She leaned in close, whispering into Aspasia's ear. "I know you met my Morrigan. I know what she taught you. It may not seem significant now, but sometimes the smallest package can hold the biggest gift. Never forget that, girl." She leaned back, a wry smile tugging her lips. "I look forward to seeing you all again soon." The Witch of the Wilds changed back into her high dragon form and nodded at the four, leaping off the high bluff and spreading her wings as she caught an updraft that took her high into the air. Before long, she became nothing more than a dark blip against the early evening sky.

Aspasia pocketed the amulet as they turned and made their way down from the high point. They reached the gates quickly, sneaking behind the guards who were occupied with throngs of refugees trying to push their way in. The tavern wasn't too far from the gates, and the smell of the stew was irresistable. Forgetting their filthy, bloodied states, the travelers pushed their way in, finding themselves a corner table. The serving girl tried not to stare as she took their orders and brought food and drink. Aspasia cocked an ear, trying to catch any gossip that might involve the people she loved but had been forced to leave behind. She caught random tidbits here and there, but nothing of real substance—at least not from anyone sober enough to elaborate on what they were saying:

"…Lothering's a mess. Totally wiped off the face of Thedas," a faceless voice spluttered, slurring the words messily.

"…Wardens? The bastards that got Cailan killed…" spat another gruff voice in the crowd, followed by grumbled curses for the Wardens.

"…'ol Howe wiped out the Couslands. Fergus ran for the hills, that coward…"

"…Anora's gonna have to marry and start pumping out the babes. Soon…"

Having eaten and drank her fill of stew and ale, Aspasia got up and made her way to the barkeep. "D'you have any rooms for the night, serah?"

"Serah? Oh…you must be from up by Lothering, Redcliffe."  _More refugees. Perfect._  "No, we don't have any rooms for the night," the 'keep said, knowing that he had 3 rooms vacant, but no amount of refugee coin would buy them for the night. He wouldn't take the heat for refugees flooding the city, for finding it a friendly place to wait out the Blight. They could sleep in the alley for all he cared.  _Let 'em get stabbed._

"Oh…" Aspasia started, crestfallen. A fat tear spilled out of one of her deep blue eyes, splashing on the bar.

 _Aw, sod it…I can't stand to see a pretty young thing cry…_  "Okay, you got me. I do have one room. How many in your party?" The barkeep rolled his eyes, in disbelief that he was going to actually help this refugee. He hoped that it wouldn't open the proverbial floodgates. He glanced around, making sure none of the other refugee groups were watching them. So far, so good.

"F-f-four, sir."  _It's working! Sucker!_

"It'll be one sovereign," the 'keep grumbled as Aspasia felt out the gold in her purse, handing it over triumphantly. A whole sovereign was highway robbery for a place like this, but it was a safe place to stay the night, and at this point Aspasia would have paid nearly anything for a bed and a bath. He reached under the bar and grabbed the key, dangling it in front of her. "Now  _look_ ," he growled menacingly, "this is for one night and one night _ONLY_. Your kind will not be staying here, mucking up my pretty city…got it?"

"All we need is one night, sir. We leave in the morning for Kirkwall." Aspasia replied, not wanting to look him in the eye, lest he rescind his offer…or tack on additional  _conditions_  that she'd rather not think about. She had noticed how he had raked his eyes over her, wolfishly, when she approached the bar. Aspasia plucked the key from his grasp and turned away quickly, stuffing it in her pocket. She suspected that he would rather have his generosity remain private.

The barkeep stifled a laugh. He knew the Kirkwallians didn't think much better of refugees than he did, especially since they were in the Free Marches. They had a particular dislike for Fereldans there.  _IF_  they were allowed into the city, it would be a hard, hard life for this pretty young thing in front of him. He almost regretted how the toils would mar her perfect skin, cause her to age prematurely.  _Almost_. He toyed with the thought of requiring her to share a bed with him as additional payment but dismissed it when he considered how upset his pregnant wife would likely be. Not so much at the infidelity…that was pretty standard for him, actually. No, she would be more upset at this girl's age and desperation. It did little to stop his active imagination from wandering, however, and he growled a promise of later  _activities_  to his barmaid as Aspasia walked away, hips swaying gently.

Aspasia returned to the table, a grin on her face. "Got us a room," she whispered. The other three rose and they walked upstairs, winding through the corridor until they got to Room 3.

It was a small room, with a bunked bed that needed to have its mattresses changed out, but it would do for the night. The sight of a moderately-sized copper tub gave all four reason to smile broadly. Leandra grabbed the handle of the well-pump for the tub, struggling to get it started, as Aveline and Aspasia brought in bucket after bucket of hot water from the large boiler at the end of the hall. Carver dropped his pack and scrambled to the top bunk.

"Dibs!" He cried, sprawling—or at least his best attempt at sprawling across a twin-size bed—and claiming the stale ticked pad for his own.

"Carver. Mother is going to be sleeping with you. You need to sleep on the lower bunk," Aspasia scolded. She would be sleeping with Aveline.

"It's fine, Aspasia. I haven't slept on the top bunk since I was a little girl. It'll be fun, won't it, Carvey-poo?" Leandra teased, causing Carver to scowl. She laughed gently as she dipped a hand into the water, testing the temperature. All agreed that she, as matriarch, should get the first bath. Afterward, she prepared for bed behind the small screen that blocked off one corner of the room. The other three followed suit, each taking a quick bath and changing into a linen shirt. Carver, Leandra, and Aveline all fell asleep quickly. Aspasia couldn't sleep. She jotted a quick note in her journal for the day's travels and tore a page out of the back. She had promised Alistair she would get him a note to let him know she was safe, and she intended to keep that promise.

_Alistair—_

_We made it to Gwaren, though without Bethany. We are boarding a cargo ship bound for Kirkwall in the morning. I hope this note finds you safe. I miss you and think about you all the time. I will write to you again once we land in Kirkwall to let you know how to reach me._

_Love, Aspasia_

She wondered to herself if it was too forward to close her note like that but opted to leave it. She did love him—or at least felt the closest thing possible to it. It was unexplainable. They barely knew each other, but the bond between them seemed as solid as if they had known each other forever. Aspasia felt a pull towards the Grey Warden unlike anything she had ever felt before. And it felt  _right_. Maker, did it feel right. She kissed the paper, folded the note in half, then in half again, tucking it into her pouch. Finally, with her note written, she crawled into bed and nested herself against the gently snoring Aveline, falling into a heavy slumber. Every dream that night had an overpopulation of pigeons.  _Odd._

Morning came all too quickly, and the travelers gathered up their things once again as dawn, with her rose-red fingers, climbed up the sky. They made a few quick stops, trading unwanted gear and other stuff like the piece of garnet, which did bring several gold as Aspasia had hoped, thanks to Leandra's well-honed haggling skills. Aspasia replenished her potions stash and traded in some bottles of weapons poison, gaining them even more coin. She had a feeling they would need a lot of coin just to get on the ship, let alone make it into Kirkwall. Finally, she stopped by the courier's stand, sealing her note and paying the 5 coppers to get it to Redcliffe.

The cargo ship before them was massive. It had a bank of rowers as well as three tall masts—one red sail, one blue, one yellow—to propel the vessel across the water. The cargo for the ship was various spices and items like Highever wool or Lothering cotton bales. Kirkwall was the main port for the Free Marches, and would distribute these items to the various city-states. As she handed over the four-sovereign transport fee to the ship's captain, Aspasia was glad that she had made the trades she did. After paying the captain, she had 10 sovereigns, 60 silver, and 90 coppers left; not a small amount, but likely too little to get them into Kirkwall if they had to resort to bribery. Hopefully she and Carver could find some odd jobs to do if it came to that.

Aspasia watched Aveline, Carver, and finally her mother board the long galley. She put one foot on the boarding plank and glanced for a long moment at her other, clinging to Ferelden soil, about to leave it for what she knew, deep-down, would be forever. Aspasia begrudgingly picked up her foot and carefully ascended the narrow walkway, joining her family—at this point Aveline truly deserved to be included in the category—as they made their way down into the cargo hold's cramped steerage space. The four of them slumped around a post, Aspasia leaning her head on Aveline, Aveline leaning on Leandra, and Leandra leaning on Carver. Carver refused to lean on Aspasia. It was going to be a long voyage. Shortly after leaving port, Aspasia felt seasickness take a firm hold of her stomach. She gnashed elfroot between her teeth, tucking it into her lower lip like a plug of tobacco, but it did little to help with the nausea. Aveline didn't fare much better, but Carver and Leandra scurried around in the steerage like it was nothing. As she heaved for the eighth…or ninth…she had lost count…time, Aspasia noticed the sun was in the noonday position overhead.  _A long voyage, indeed._

* * *

_The Gwaren courier, Theon, rode at a steady pace through the forest, his horse nimbly avoiding the various pits and rocks as the stallion ate up the distance between cities. Redcliffe was his next stop; it was only about 4 hours' ride north of Honnleath and he would be there in a few minutes…just as soon as the forest broke. Finally, he saw the trees give way to open meadowlands and he carelessly spurred the chestnut stallion to go faster, and one of his saddle bags brushed hard against a massive oak as the horse squeezed by._

_He reached the city walls and slowed to a gentle canter, then a walk as he flashed his Couriers' Guild insignia to the gate guards. Reaching the courier's office in Redcliffe, Theon dismounted and tied his ride to the hitching post. He rifled through his saddle bags, searching for the messages designated for the stronghold of southwestern Ferelden. One side—the side that had hit the oak tree outside of town—had a decently-sized twig sticking out of it, but that bag had been packed lightly so he thought little of it at first. When he looked inside, however, he gasped as he recalled that a new apprentice had packed this bag yesterday, because he had been in a terrible rush to get out of Gwaren on schedule._

_Theon was picky about how his bags were packed. He was careful to sort his messages by city, then addressee, and tied them into bundles based on these criteria. A master delivery list was a necessity; it was for the couriers to sign off on each bundle as proof of delivery. But the apprentice was brand new—just hired that week—and hadn't been fully introduced to this system yet. As a result, the messages were hastily thrown into the bag, jostling loosely in the pockets. Finally, one-by-one, he located them; 4 wax-sealed notes for the Arl, 3 for the Chantry. Theon counted the messages again…4 for the Arl…3 for the Chantry…he paused. He could have sworn there should be 5 messages for the Arl. He dug into the saddle bag again to look for his master delivery list but it was missing. "Of course," he thought, "the apprentice wouldn't know to put the master list in, and I certainly didn't manage to tell him. Stupid."_

_Desperate, Theon pulled every message out of the bag, sorting them by city, then addressee, quickly bundling them himself. He didn't find the fifth message for the Arl. He would inquire when he passed back through Honnleath. This happened from time to time and wasn't really a big deal, as long as he found and got the message back on the delivery path again. He stepped inside the courier's office and completed the transaction, picking up a bundle bound for the Circle Tower at Lake Calenhad._

_Meanwhile, rain started to fall over the Redcliffe region, soaking the forest, meadowlands, and city in much-needed precipitation. As the Maker-given gift washed down a particular oak tree in the forest, it knocked loose a tiny, folded, wax-sealed piece of paper from a newly-broken branch. The bundle hit the forest floor, soaking up the mud, which dissolved the inked message. By the time the rain stopped sometime during the night, virtually all that was left was a red wax seal-blob._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Aveline's amulet, the swirling pattern I have in mind is mokume-gane, which is a Japanese metalsmithing method which creates really pretty burled patterns. Wikipedia and/or Google gives several nice images. I know the lyrium in DA2 is red, but I liked the blue that it was in Origins (why did they change it?), and in my mind it makes a very pretty glowy amulet with the burled metal.


	10. Hardened

_"Been in Kirkwall for a few months now. Uncle Gamlen came up with a brilliant fucking plan. Carver and I have essentially been sold into slavery to reimburse the Red Iron for the coin they put up to get us into Kirkwall. Our obligation is only a year. That's doable, but I wish it hadn't come to that. At any rate, the mercenary life is going well, I guess. A few morally ambiguous situations, but nothing I can't handle. I wish I could hear more about what's going on in Ferelden. I'm so worried about Alistair. I wonder if he thinks of me."_

"Yeah. I  _wonder_  what Alistair was thinking. All I know is that Fenris said that when they met with him a few weeks ago, he looked as though he was seeing a ghost."

* * *

Alistair stared at his tankard and swallowed hard, blinking back tears. He re-read the hastily written note, hoping that the words on the parchment would change.

_Alistair, we found the makeshift grave of Bethany Hawke plus a pile of several other bodies that were too charred to identify further up the highway between Lothering and the Circle Tower. All I can say is that at least one of them was wielding silverite armor and/or weapons. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it appears that our friends did not escape the Blight. I'm sorry. –Smithy_

Alistair drained the remainder of his ale in a single gulp, slamming the tankard on the oak table.  _Gone. Just like that._ He tossed the note on the table, storming out of the tavern. Elissa picked it up, scanned it quickly, and couldn't help the tiny smug smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth. The Maker, it seemed, had not abandoned her. She would have to play her cards just right, but Elissa Cousland was certain that she could now make Alistair hers with that pesky Lothering slut out of the way. She sipped at her ale triumphantly.

It had apparently taken some time for the messenger to finally track down Alistair in Denerim's Gnawed Noble tavern, because the note was dated nearly two months ago. Alistair had hung around Redcliffe for far longer than he should have, hoping for something from Aspasia, before finally conceding that his requested note would never come. He had been in a funk for weeks; even Morrigan's antics couldn't rile him up much.  _If this is lovesickness…Maker…maybe I should have stuck with the Templars._

Alistair ducked into the abandoned warehouse that they had cleared out last week and turned into a makeshift residence while they conducted their business in and around Denerim. He sat on a crate and took a deep, shuddering breath. His fingers brushed against the hawk amulet that rested in the dip between his collarbones and bit his lower lip hard.  _I should have stayed…we should have escorted them to Highever…oh, how many things could've—should've been done differently…then she'd be alive. How was it possible to fall for someone so quickly? How will I ever make this pain go away?_

The Grey Warden cradled his head in his hands as he fought tears. Yesterday had been the disaster of meeting with Goldanna and the subsequent argument he had with Elissa, and now this. Every time he was given a hint of some sort of normal, domestic life, it was snatched away.  _Maybe Elissa was right. I should be more careful. I shouldn't be so trusting. I need to harden myself against the tough times to come, especially if the Arl of Redcliffe gets his way and puts me on the throne. I…I think Aspasia would have told me the same thing. She lost everything and still had a smile on her face, bless her little heart. The Maker has a tough cookie up there, that's for sure. I hope she watches over us._ Alistair smiled a little and swallowed hard at the thought of his departed Aspasia watching down over him from the Maker's side. He composed himself and started to head back to the tavern when Morrigan came waltzing through the door.

"Alistair…I saw the note. I'm so sorry…" Morrigan began, a rare show of whatever she thought was emotion.

"Morrigan, please…I'm not in the mood," Alistair pleaded. He noted that Elissa had not come with the mage. He wasn't terribly surprised; she was probably buying the tavern a round at that very moment.

"I'm being serious. She was a special, special woman. To both of us. She was the first person that I have ever considered to be a friend. But listen to what I have to say…"

"I'm listening." Alistair muttered under his breath, steeling himself for whatever the mage might come up with that would probably send him spiraling off into dimensions of pissed-offedness that he'd never thought possible before they met.

"I don't think we've heard the last of Aspasia Hawke. I didn't have one of my visions,  _per se_ , but I just have a gut feeling. If I do have a vision about her, I will let you know right away," the mage said, softly, placing a hand on Alistair's shoulder.

"…Thanks, Morrigan. That's a little comforting," Alistair conceded, thinking that maybe someday he would hear a tavern tale about a little blonde mage turning an ogre into an icicle or something.  _She would've gone out in a blaze of glory, I can guarantee that_. Morrigan offered a hand to the Grey Warden, which Alistair took as he got up and the two of them stepped out of the warehouse to get some air. The silence was palpable, but not overly awkward. These days, Alistair  _almost_  felt more comfortable around Morrigan than he did Elissa. Almost.  _Progress_ , he thought dryly.  _Maybe this Witch of the Wilds isn't so bad after all if she considered Aspasia a friend…_

* * *

"Aveline! Seven o'clock!"

Aveline spun around to see the Carta thug approaching. Aspasia hit it with Winter's Grasp just as she swung her shield in a forward arc, shattering the crook. Carver was perhaps thirty feet away, yelling taunts as he raised his greatsword over his head to take a final hack at the leader of the group. With all of the Carta thugs dead, Aspasia ran around to pick their pockets, finally finding the message that Meeran had asked her to retrieve. Obeying his orders, she did not read it. They went straightaway back to their boss to complete the task so they could go home for the night.

"Ho, ho, Hawke! Once again, I find that Gamlen severely undersold your talents. I sent three squads after those guys. You make it look easy. Keep this up, and I might just promote you!" Meeran said, grinning. Hawke certainly was making his business run more smoothly, and he wouldn't mind having a second-in-command…or a new wife. Unlike most Kirkwall residents, he didn't have qualms about mages, especially not ones who had talents like Hawke.  _She was easy on the eyes, too,_  he mused. But he was an older man, and she was a pretty young thing who deserved far better than the mercenary life. As much as he would welcome it if she decided to stick around, he would keep his word and release her after her year's contracted service if she so desired.

 _He'd better not try and propose again,_ Aspasia thought.  _Eww. Gross. He's got that LOOK again._ The mercenary life wasn't an easy one; it had been quite isolating, making the transition to big city life that much harder. As if being a poor Fereldan refugee apostate wasn't bad enough for the dating scene…once she explained what she did for a living—primarily killing people for hire—nearly all guys ran, not walked, away. Every day, she had to fend off fellow mercs who tried to get her into their beds for a quick tumble. It wasn't what she wanted. So, to protect herself, Aspasia had forced herself to (mostly) squash her naturally flirty and humorous nature. She was now sarcastic, bitchy…hardened.  _Not as bad as Elissa. I'd never let myself get that bad. But I can see the advantages of being bitchy to everyone. Keeps the riff-raff away._ None of the guys she knew now were blonde enough, strong enough, kind enough, awkwardly adorable enough…they just weren't  _Alistair_. He was all she wanted, and Aspasia knew she probably wouldn't see him again. It broke her heart every damned day when she forced herself to acknowledge this harsh truth.

Not that Alistair would even recognize her at this point if she did see him. She had lost twenty pounds on the month-long journey from Gwaren because of the indomitable seasickness that plagued her from the moment she got on that damned boat. She had been thin, but luciously soft in all the right places before. Between the sickness, scarce funds for food, and her suddenly very  _active_  lifestyle, Aspasia's body scarcely had any fat left on it. Her muscles weren't big like Aveline's, but they were now more harshly defined than hers, which made Aspasia look oddly sinewy. She didn't like it. Her boobs had deflated, her butt flattened, and she hadn't gotten her monthly since she arrived in Kirkwall. The healer said she was perfectly healthy, simply far too thin and far too stressed for her body to be able to carry a baby. Once she gained weight, the nurse-healer had said, her cycle would come right back.

To make matters worse, her long blonde hair was gone. Some stupid idiot apostate decided to practice fireballs in  _steerage_. Aspasia hadn't been able to dodge the flames in time, burning the hair completely off her scalp. She had suffered a fair bit of burn damage to her face and neck as well, but the guilty apostate was actually a very talented healer—just a massive idiot. So, three months later, Hawke finally had about two inches of her golden locks back. Thankfully her scalp hadn't scarred, so it was still thick, but she noticed that it was growing in considerably curlier than it had before, which made it stick out all over the place at such a short length. If she controlled it with beeswax, Aspasia could actually make her hair kind of look like Alistair's, which made her even more lonesome for him.  _Bad Aspasia. Bad. You need to move on._

"I dunno about you guys, but I need a drink after that," Carver grumbled.

"Agreed. But I'd like to get cleaned up first. It's still early enough to run back to Gamlen's, isn't it?" Aveline pondered, looking down at her bloodied armor.

"Yep. Let's get out of these things and go find some poor sucker to play Wicked Grace with," Aspasia chimed in, steering her companions towards her uncle's Lowtown hovel.

An hour later, the trio emerged, cautionary missives from Leandra wafting through the oak door behind them. They walked to the Hanged Man, where they quickly drained several pints of the "best" ale that Kirkwall had to offer. Several hands of cards later, a semi-drunk member of the Kirkwall city guard sidled up to Aveline.

"Hey…Red…you're a heckuva warrior, they say. How's 'bout ye join the city guard? We could use good blades," the man slurred.

"I've thought about it, actually," Aveline replied, much to the shock of Aspasia and Carver. "I have a contractual obligation that will take me another 9 months. If there is an opening after that, I'll be glad to join up. Who shall I say recruited me?"

"Fan…tastic," the guard blurted, belching at the end. "My name's Donnic. We need hotties like you there. You too, blondie," he said, gesturing towards Aspasia. Donnic winked heavily at Aveline, eliciting a tiny blush from the normally hardened warrior.

"I'm…not…exactly cut out for the guard life, I'm 'fraid," Aspasia replied, not wanting to elaborate. She had done well enough keeping off of the Templars' radar so far, so she wasn't about to start advertising her apostate status as part of Kirkwall's city guard.

"And I'm not hot enough, apparently," Carver chimed in, rolling his eyes.

"Suit yerselves," Donnic muttered. "But you…Red…I'll be seeing you in the Keep, I hope?" He smiled warmly at Aveline.

"Perhaps," Aveline offered, smirking. The drunken guard stumbled away. Aspasia looked around, leaning in towards Aveline.

"Avie!" she hissed. "When exactly were you going to tell us about joining the city guard?"

"Well, either that or the Templars, Hawke. Take your pick. I'm a warrior. I know no other vocation!" Aveline retorted under her breath, green eyes flashing as her lips pressed into a thin, hard line.

"'Tis true," Aspasia responded. "Can't argue with that. I guess I just thought you'd…"

"What? Live with you and Carver and Leandra and Gamlen as one big happy family in Lowtown for the rest of my life? You are like a  _sister_  to me, Aspasia. Believe me. But I want to move on, live my own life…maybe even find love again someday…" The redhaired warrior trailed off, looking to the side wistfully as memories of Wesley flooded her. The mild flirting with Donnic had given her a tiny bit of hope that maybe…someday…she'd be brave enough to get back on that proverbial horse.

"Well, not really  _that_  so much," Aspasia started, "I kinda figured you'd want to live on your own sooner rather than later…but more that you would have maybe brought it up to me first? I feel a bit out of the loop here."

Aveline sighed. She had deliberately not told the Hawkes of her plan because she thought that they might try to talk her out of it. "I should have talked to you first, yes. I was wrong for not doing that, and I apologize."

"Apology accepted. Drink up, you lost last hand. Forfeit is to chug your drink!" Carver teased, a wicked glint in his eyes. He had yet to see Aveline fully drunk and he was determined that tonight would be the time.

Aveline drained her mug of ale and giggled softly as she slammed it to the table. All three grinned as Carver shuffled and dealt the cards again.

* * *

From the other side of the tavern, Varric Tethras had been watching the trio as they drank and played cards.

"You sure those are the ones Meeran told you about, brother?" Bartrand quizzed skeptically. He tugged at his beard nervously.

"Yup. Two women and a guy, two warriors and a mage. Meeran said they're some of the best fighters he's ever worked with. Fereldan refugees.  _Guaranteed_  they would make our expedition a success," Varric replied, leaning back in his chair.

"Well, we won't be ready to leave for at least a year…you think they're gonna stick around Kirkwall that long?"

"I have it on Meeran's word that they are contracted for another 9 months to him. All we have to do is get them on board around that time—just as they're starting to worry about how to make ends meet. The promise of riches should be enough, but I'll work in the family crap if I have to in order to convince them to come along." Varric said, reassuring his brother.

"We'll see," Bartrand conceded.


	11. The Proposal

_"Varric Tethras. This dwarf is going to make life a whole lot more interesting."_

"That's it? That's all she had to say about our first meeting?" Varric roared with laughter. In all honesty, he wasn't all that surprised that Hawke had only written one sentence. Somehow, it figured that it was all she needed.

* * *

_Worked off my debt in ten months. Not bad, Hawke,_  Aspasia thought to herself as she, Carver, and Aveline made their way out of Meeran's office. They had done so well for the Red Iron that instead of taking a full year to work off the coin that had been required to get them into the city, it only took ten months. Meeran had, of course, offered to let her fill the rest of the contract and keep a "modest portion" of the coin—which she knew from experience would be only about 30 percent. All three had refused that insultingly low offer, but had left bridges unburned so if they wanted to pick up the occasional odd job from the Red Iron, they could do so. Now, with a final payment in hand, Hawke strolled through Hightown, pondering all of the opportunities now open to her.

She didn't see the pickpocket following them in the shadows.

Quick as a flash, the young boy had flown past the trio, snatching the coin purse out of Hawke's hand. Before she even realized what had happened, she saw the boy get pinned to the side of one of Hightown's mansions with a stiff crossbow bolt.

Varric Tethras approached the would-be-thief, muttering something to the boy as he grabbed the purse. He pulled the bolt from the boy's sleeve, releasing him. The boy scampered away as the dwarf turned back towards the approaching trio, twirling the bolt cockily in his gloved fingers.

"Varric Tethras, at your service," he said, giving a grand bow before tossing the purse back to Hawke. "You really should keep a better hand on your purse, even here in Hightown. Crime is a problem all over Kirkwall, really. City guard can't keep up. I think we need more vigilantes, to be honest."

"Haven't I seen you before?" Aspasia quizzed. He certainly looked unique enough to burn a place into her memory; reddish blonde hair, no beard—which was very odd for a dwarf—a wide-open shirt, buccaneer coat, and a very large, highly polished crossbow strapped to his back.

"Perhaps. I am co-owner of the Hanged Man. I've seen the three of you there, so it'd only follow that you've seen me as well."

"You skulk around Hightown, picking off thieves often?" Carver asked.

The dwarf chuckled. "No, no. I just happened to be in the area."

"You're a terrible liar, dwarf," Aveline cautioned as she peaked an eyebrow at Varric.

"Alright, ya got me," Varric started, still twirling his bolt as he looked up into Aspasia's eyes. "I was hoping to talk to you, Hawke. You've made quite a name for yourself over these past few months. And I knew from Meeran that you'd be released from your contract with the Red Iron today. Figured you'd be looking for some work, so I wanted to make a proposal," he said nonchalantly, as if he did this every day…which he pretty much did.

"Go ahead, Varric," Aspasia said, relaxing her stance slightly as she folded her hands across her chest. "Let's hear what you have to say. No animals, no children. Those are my hard limits."

"Let's go have a drink at the Hanged Man and discuss this in my office."

* * *

Norah, the barmaid, sauntered out of Varric's suite after dropping off the second round of ales for the dwarf and his three potential business partners. Carver watched as she left, which didn't escape the notice of Varric. Norah was several years older than the younger Hawke, but still good-looking for her age. She was witty and hard to most, but really sweet and kind to those who took the time to get to know her outside of the Hanged Man. She could teach the brash young man a thing or two, in more ways than one. As it always did, Varric's mind started spinning a fanciful tale about Carver and the fetching older barmaid.

Aspasia took a long pull from her ale. "So…Varric. What's the deal?"

"Boy, you don't mess around, do you, Aspasia?" Varric asked, taken aback at her assertiveness. From all he had learned while watching her in the tavern over the past few months, one of the last things he would have expected her to be was aggressive. Not two minutes ago, they had been laughing racously at one of his ridiculous stories. Now she was steely, obviously in a mood to discuss business. He wondered what had prompted the shift, and how he could use it to his advantage.

"Time is coin, Tethras. And I don't believe I ever told you my name was  _Aspasia_ ," she barked in reply.  _Aspasia_  was a sweet, kind, good girl who helped her mother in the garden and liked pretty dresses and flirted with boys.  _Hawke_  was the mercenary, hard and ruthless, aggressive and ambitious.  _Hawke_  was here now, not Aspasia.

Hawke had convinced herself that Varric had no need to know  _Aspasia_ …for now. He seemed like a genial fellow; offered them drinks on the house and a free room if they got too drunk to make it home tonight. The dwarf had volunteered information on many of Kirkwall's  _hoi polloi_ while they had downed their first round of ale. The stories about the Harimann boy's feathered fantasies caused Aveline to do a spit-take of her drink. Carver wasn't real pleased with being covered in ale and Aveline's spit, but he had to admit that the sight of such a rigid woman losing her shit in a giggle fit was worth it. Maybe, just maybe, if their friendship blossomed Hawke would allow Varric to call her  _Aspasia_. But not today.

"Very well, Hawke," Varric replied smoothly. He knew he had crossed some sort of line with her…had been too free somehow.  _Play your hand carefully, Tethras._  "My brother Bartrand and I are planning an expedition to the Deep Roads now that the Archdemon has been killed. It should be clear of darkspawn, and…"

"Wait. You said the Archdemon is dead?" Aspasia's eyes widened and she glanced over at Carver, whose eyes were equally as wide.

"Er, yes. Last week. Denerim. Couple'a Grey Wardens took care of it," the dwarf muttered, unsure of why Hawke would be so interested in the Archdemon, until he realized that she might just bolt back to Ferelden now. _Shit! We can't lose her! Think, Varric, think!_

"Do you happen to know their names? The Wardens?" Aspasia's eyes were dancing frantically.  _Nervously_. Varric was starting to get the idea that someone near and dear to Hawke was a Warden. Maybe she wouldn't bolt after all. Maybe she would. But he was a softie at heart and didn't want to make her suffer any more than she clearly already had.

"Umm…let's see…CORFF! C'MERE!" he shouted. The bartender jogged up the steps, taking his place at Varric's side.

"Yeah, boss?" Corff asked casually.

"You were telling me yesterday about the Archdemon in Ferelden. Did you happen to catch the names of the Grey Wardens that were there?" Varric quizzed his bartender, hoping for something that would ease the tension that had arisen in the room.

"Yeah. There were only two in Ferelden the whole Blight, and they managed to get 'er done. Theirry and Couslin, I think, a guy and a gal, anyway. Couslin…the gal…made the killing blow, if my source was right." Corff explained.

"Thanks, Corff. That's all we needed," Varric said as he dismissed his bartender. He looked at Hawke, who let out a huge sigh of relief. She buried her face in her hands and muttered a thanks to the Maker.

_Wait…Couslin? I think Corff might've misheard his source. Elissa made the final blow. Not really all that surprising. But thank the MAKER, Alistair's alive. Should I go back to Ferelden? It's been a year…so much has happened…I don't even know if he got either of my letters. Maybe he thinks I'm dead. Well, I'll at least hear out Varric, talk to Carver, and go from there. Can't go back to Ferelden alone, and certainly can't go back dead broke._

"Feel better about something, Hawke?" Varric asked gently. He didn't want to pry, but it was clear that she had been bothered by something.

"Yes. Tons. Found out a good friend of mine survived the Blight. Thank the Maker, and thank you for asking Corff about it," Aspasia mumbled as Aveline wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She had heard enough about Alistair over the past year to know how much this news meant to her 'little sister'.

"My pleasure, Hawke. Anyway, as I was saying, the Deep Roads will be relatively darkspawn-free for at least the next six months to a year now that the Archdemon is dead. My brother and I are aware of an old abandoned thaig that was quite the trade center back in the day. He has it on good faith that much of the rich stuff is still there, not to mention tons and tons of lyrium for trading," Varric explained.

"Right. So, that doesn't really tell me much about why I'm here with you," Hawke snipped.

"I was getting to that," Varric replied, trying not to spit back the same attitude. "My brother is a master planner, but these expeditions take manpower and coin. We are doing fairly well, but we are lacking in a couple of ways. First, we need a team of fighters to lead the way and clear out any remaining darkspawn so the rest of our men can go in and retrieve the treasure. Second, we are wanting to offer an invesment opportunity. You'll get your initial gold back, plus half of whatever we find.

"Half? Just for me? And you and Bartrand split the other half amongst yourselves?" Aspasia asked, trying to confirm what sounded like a deal too good to be true.

"Yep. Of course, that's just the material goods. The potential lyrium trade…that's a different story. That's where we would make up the discrepancy. You would get a quarter of those profits. So half of whatever treasure is in the thaig now, plus a quarter of future lyrium trade profits for life. You'll be set for the rest of your life, Hawke, even if we find no treasure. The lyrium trade alone would provide a very handsome windfall."

Aspasia looked at Carver, then at Aveline. Aveline gave an expression that indicated she had no interest or opinion in the matter. Carver, however, was quite excited.

"Why do you hesistate, sister?" Carver asked, exasperated.

"You don't want to go back to Ferelden now that the Archdemon's gone?" Aspasia secretly hoped he would want to go back, just so she had someone else to go with her. She wasn't going to make that journey alone.

"Let's do this, get paid, then decide. You heard what mother said about the Amell Estate, about Gamlen and her folks. It's the least we can do to try and get her name back in Kirkwall's elite again," Carver pleaded. It was true; their poor mother had suffered so much by eloping with their father, thinking for years that her parents hated her. To find out otherwise, that her brother had not only squandered the fortune but lost the ancestral estate in a card game? It had sent Leandra Hawke into the deepest funk Aspasia had ever seen. Her blue-gray eyes were lifeless, her whole demeanor dulled as though wrapped in a wet towel. Maybe getting the estate back would restore some of her vigor. There was no question now; the Hawke children would do this for their mother.

Aspasia turned back to Varric, staring at him hard with her business face on display. "Fine. Varric, we're in. How much for the investment?"

"Fifty sovereigns. I know it's pretty steep, but we won't be ready to go labor-wise for a few months at least. Plus, I always have odd jobs that people bring to me. I can hand those off to you exclusively so you can earn more money." Varric smiled. Bartrand was going to be pleased as a cat with a bowl of cream. Hawke would save the expedition not only with coin, but brawn.

"Fifty! That is a princely sum, dwarf," Hawke chuckled. "But if you have jobs, we will do them. It might take a bit, but we'll earn it." She stuck her hand out and Varric took it, shaking it to solidify the deal.

"I know you will, Hawke. Your reputation indicates you would do no less," Varric answered smoothly. "Ready for another round?"

"Maker, yes!" Aspasia replied.

Varric clapped his hands sharply, twice. A few moments later, Norah sauntered back into the suite with another round of Kirkwall's Finest.

Carver raised his tankard first, shouting, "To the expedition! To the Grey Wardens!"

All four clinked their tankards together and downed the skunky ale quickly, hoping the aftertaste wasn't as bad that way. Didn't work. Determined to make drinking the awful swill more tolerable, the Hawkes and Aveline downed pint after pint. Hours later, they did take Varric up on his offer to spend the night, cramming themselves into a single tiny room just like they did in Gwaren nearly a year ago. It was physically uncomfortable, but all three drifted off to sleep happily, knowing that they would wake up free, Kirkwall citizens proper, with a lucrative job on the horizon.


	12. A Friend in the Guard

_"Avie got a job with the Kirkwall City Guard. Yesterday we helped her move into the barracks at the Viscount's Keep. She's been a constant companion—a sister—for about a year, now. Our room seems so empty now. It's just me and Carver now in that tiny closet Gamlen calls a bedroom. Avie could've gotten Carver a job too, but he opted to continue working with me as we save up for the Deep Roads. I miss Avie. :-("_

"I remember that day. Hawke was so distraught that first night…spent most of it at the Hanged Man getting shitfaced so she could simply pass out rather than get used to sleeping alone again." Varric smiled; until he had been informed otherwise, he had really thought that Hawke and Aveline were sisters. They had remained as close as could be through the years, and he was certain that Aveline was behind some of the more sane ideas that Hawke had gotten.  _Good head on her shoulders. Donnic was a lucky sonuvabitch._

* * *

"I'm not sure how you managed to amass so much shit in less than a year, Aveline," Aspasia grumbled as she packed another crate of her friend's belongings.

Two days ago they had been released from their contract with the Red Iron and met Varric Tethras. Yesterday, after shaking off a mild hangover, Aveline had marched right into the Viscount's Keep and been given a position with the city guard on the spot. The handsome guard who had recruited her, Donnic, swore that he didn't remember coming over to their table at the Hanged Man, but a tiny blush tinged the tips of his ears pink when he thought Aveline was no longer looking. It was required for the guards to live in the barracks, so now it was time for Aveline to make her break from the Hawkes and strike out on her own. Was it easy? Maker, _NO_. The Hawkes were family now. But if felt like it was beyond time for her to move on, to try and get back to what she was really good at; defending. She had never liked the mercenary life, the killing. She wouldn't miss it.

"You know, me either. I was never much for material things when Wesley was still alive," Aveline replied softly. She was sitting on the floor of the main room in Gamlen's house, surrounded by a virtual mountain of stuff that she was attempting to sort into  _keep_ ,  _toss_ ,  _sell_ , and  _store_  piles. She couldn't take much with her; the barracks simply didn't have much storage space. She had her foot locker and a lockable armoire. Nothing else.

"I mean, seriously, Avie…dresses? I can't believe you bought  _A_  dress, let alone  _five_!" Carver mocked, holding up a purple Orlesian silk number from the keep pile that Aveline was convinced would make a perfect first date dress. If she ever had the occasion to go on such a thing.

"Well…a woman should be prepared for anything," the redhead retorted in a huff, returning to her sorting. The  _keep_  pile was still far too big for her available space. "Fine. Put that dress in the  _sell_  pile. I'll get rid of all of them and just buy something when the need arises.  _If_  the need arises."

"Oh, you can store those in my closet, Avie," Leandra chimed in. She was happy for Aveline, even though she would miss having the stoic warrior around. The Kirkwall city guard was no small potatoes, and they had been recruiting Aveline hard for several months. The woman had the potential to rise through their ranks quickly. Perhaps it would provide the motivation that Carver needed to finally step out on his own. It was hard for her to watch Aspasia and Carver these days; their personalities had always conflicted a bit, but with Bethany—their mediator—gone, little squabbles soon snowballed into big arguments. Shouting, throwing things, throwing punches…nothing was out of the ordinary for those two now. The Hawke matriarch knew it was Carver's desperation to step out from behind his older sister's shadow that fueled many of the arguments. The taunts he had heard around town as he followed a woman, sister or not, had to get to him. Yet his ironheaded devotion to her safety, instilled by her darling husband, kept him here in Lowtown.  _He should be joining the guard with Avie,_  she thought.  _He could be Guard-Captain. Well…as long as he doesn't do something stupid like joining the damned Templars, I guess I'll go with his choices._

"Are you sure, Lady Hawke?" Aveline cocked her head to the side quizzically.

"Avie, for the millionth time, call me Mum. You're as dear as one of my own," the elder lady replied as she crossed the room to Carver, taking the dress from his hands.

"Right. Sorry, Mum. I meant no offense."

"None taken. And yes, I do have some room for a few pretty frocks. Aren't we close to the same size?" Leandra held the dress to her body as she turned to the full-length looking glass to inspect the potential fit.

"Ah, yes. I believe so, Mum." Aveline smiled. Her own mother had been gone so long that she scarcely remembered her. It was nice to have someone she felt that close to again.

"Then I'll just  _air them out_  from time to time, how's that?" Leandra, still holding up the silk dress to her torso, pretended to waltz with an imaginary suitor, giggling.

Aveline chuckled. "Sounds perfect. That eggplant purple is gorgeous with your silver hair. You really are striking, you know. Can't imagine how Malcolm could have even functioned with you around."

"How do you think I wound up with three youngsters tugging at my skirts within three years?" Leandra laughed, winking at her adopted daughter.

"Mother, that's gross," Carver whined, rolling his eyes and making a gesture like he was going to be sick. Aspasia laughed and tossed Aveline's stuffed nug at him.

Several hours later, the various piles were complete. Aveline's belongings had been fully catalogued. Four crates would go to the barracks with her, five would be sold around town at various merchants, three would be tossed, and four (not including her silk dresses) would be stored in Lowtown. Aveline, Carver, Aspasia, and Leandra each picked up a crate as they started the long journey up to Hightown and the Viscount's Keep.

It was late afternoon when they finally reached the barracks and plopped the crates by Aveline's new bed. They made quick work of putting the meager collection of items away into the redhead's assigned spaces. It would do, for now. Aveline would take time and sort everything properly once the Hawkes were gone. Carver piled the crates by the door as Aveline gave Aspasia a big hug.

"Try to get some good sleep, Aspasia. You can stretch out now!" Aveline joked. They had been sleeping in the same bed since Gwaren, the shared body heat a comfort in those times and a necessary part of sleeping now.

"This isn't goodbye, Avie. You'll get settled in here, and we will come visit. You are welcome at our place any time, you know that. Maybe if you have the time, you can come join us for old time's sake?"

"I'd like that. Really. And I'll do my best to keep my eyes and ears open for you. Maybe I'll come across a job or two, or I can tip you off about Templar activity. I'm sure my position here will be of some help to you."

"Avie, I just want you to be happy. I think this will make you far happier than mercenary work ever could have."

"Ahh, you know me all too well, friend."

Aveline shared long embraces with Carver and Leandra, the latter bursting into tears as they held each other. But they weren't sad tears; Leandra was proud of her 'daughter' and the choices she was making. She was glad to let this 'daughter' go.

The Hawkes left the Keep reluctantly, with Aveline finally shooing them out so she could get her stuff put up properly before lights-out. Carver and Leandra went to Gamlen's, while Aspasia wandered to the Hanged Man. She sidled up to the bar, motioning for Corff to give her three shots of Antivan brandy. Aspasia downed the shots quickly, hoping to get drunk enough to sleep without her Avie curled up next to her. Varric watched Hawke down her shots curiously, making his way over to the distraught mage at his bar. By his count she was on her sixth or seventh shot by the time he got to her.

"You always drink brandy alone, Hawke? You seem like such a social drunk," Varric teased.

"Oh, Varrrrrric," Hawke slurred, the brandy having its intended effect much faster since she had neglected to eat much during the day. "Avie's gone 'n b'come a city guard. She lef' me, Varrrrrric. She lef' me." The petite blonde mage punctuated her drunken mumble with a loud hiccup.

Varric couldn't help but laugh. Drunk Hawke was just too damned cute for words.

"There, there, Hawke," Varric soothed, rubbing his hand across her back as Aspasia hung her head. "She's not gone, not really. She's just doing what's right for Kirkwall. Just like you're trying to do. She's just doing it a different way, that's all."

"But she lef' me. I hafta sleep 'lone t'night."

"You could sleep with me, but I imagine I'm not nearly as snuggly as Aveline," Varric offered.

"No…nobody can cuddle like Avie," Aspasia replied. Staying at the Hanged Man was always a disaster, and never a good night's sleep. But the thought of walking back to Gamlen's seemed just too hard now.

"Well, I can walk you back home, and get you into bed. Maybe Carver will snuggle with you tonight, sweetheart," Varric chuckled.

"Ewww. Don' joke 'bout that, Varrrrrrric. Your name is so fun to say. Varrrrrrrrrrrrric. Arrrrrr," Aspasia dissolved into a mess of hiccups and giggles as the dwarf decided she was too far gone to take back to Gamlen's. He gently led her from her place at the bar and up to his suite. He guided her to his bed and sat her down, helping to remove her boots, bracers, and hood. Varric set everything in a neat pile on a nearby chair and tucked Hawke into bed. It was a dwarven bed and, as such, a bit too short for her, but not so much that her feet hung uncomfortably off the end.

"Thanks, Varrrrrric," Hawke mumbled as she curled into a fetal position, grabbing his second pillow and spooning it as if it were Aveline.

"No problem sweetheart. No problem at all." Varric kicked off his own boots and took off his coat, hanging it on the hook by the door. Pausing to consider that she might wake up and have  _needs_  during the night, he grabbed his pitcher of drinking water and a glass, placing them on the nightstand. He also grabbed a bucket…just in case the brandy made a second showing.  _The firelight should remain sufficient to illuminate the screened-off area where the chamber pot was_ , Varric figured, but for good measure he pushed the screen aside so that the seat for the pot was clearly visible. He grabbed a spare blanket and pillow from the armoire and settled down on the chaise by the fire, watching Hawke for a few moments as she drifted into a quiet sleep. He followed suit a few minutes later, happy in the thought that he might be starting to crack that tough Hawke exterior. He was a natural charmer. She wouldn't be able to be that hard-ass mercenary figure around him forever. Hawke was an interesting woman, he couldn't deny it. It would be a fun ride, getting to know her, and it was just getting started.


	13. A Hawke in Cougartown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: NSFW for Carver sexytimes.

_"I think meeting Varric was the best damned thing that could have happened to us here in Kirkwall. He's been great about providing a steady stream of jobs for us that don't involve mercenary work. Plus, he owns the tavern and gives us our drinks at half-cost. AND he's entertaining! Tonight, he managed to write a story about Carver and that little barmaid that he's been crushing on. Hilarious."_

"Oh, that was a good one," Varric said to himself as he recalled Carver's embarrassment. But hey, it got him in that maid's skirts, which the grumbly kid had needed desperately.

* * *

"Are you  _fucking_  serious, Varric? You wrote a story about me and  _NORAH_?" Carver growled as Aveline tossed him a copy of Varric's latest 'friend fiction' titled  _Hawke in Cougartown_.

"As serious as a heart attack, junior," Varric replied, chuckling. "C'mon. Read it! I bet you'll like it. Norah did!"

"You didn't…I swear, I'll kill you, Varric." Carver. Wanted. To. Die.

"Whatever, little brother. You'll not harm a hair on his head," Aspasia chided.

Carver flipped open the booklet, scanning the handwritten manuscript quickly. Words popped out like  _steamy_ ,  _turgid_ ,  _moist_ …he threw down the booklet in disgust. He couldn't deny that he found the older barmaid oddly attractive, nor could he deny that more than one of his private-time moments had been spent consumed with thoughts of her bare flesh under his fingers…hands…lips…body…but this was too much. Varric had gone too far, especially in letting Norah read this smut.

"I think my favorite part is where she taps him like a cask," Aveline offered. Carver's face burned and turned red as he tried his hardest  _not_ to picture what that even meant, let alone how it might feel.

"Oooh! I found mine!" Aspasia chimed in, giddy. "Here, where she's playing the teacher and she sits Carver down for detention, complete with DUNCE cap, and makes him write dirty sentences for her and then act them out. He wore the DUNCE cap a lot when he was in school, you know."

"Shut  _UP_ , Aspasia," Carver barked angrily. Yet, he wasn't ready to leave. A small part of him was really quite curious about what Varric wrote, but he wasn't a very fast reader and didn't want to let that be known to anyone but his sister. Indeed, she had spoken the truth when she mentioned the DUNCE cap. It took a long time before the Headmaster realized the Carver was simply dyslexic. Carver could read, it just took him longer than most because he had to process the words very deliberately.

"I found that writing the part about Carver being chased through town by a giant snapping vagina to be the most rewarding. So scared of it…it's not gonna bite, junior," Varric grinned. It hadn't remained a secret that Carver was still a virgin for very long. Varric had weasled it out of him on that first night when the business deal was made. The dwarf thought it was a damned shame; a young man as handsome and fit as Carver should be knocking the dames dead. He noticed that he had taken a liking to Norah, saw an opportunity to break down some of that awkward wall… _maybe_ …and decided to write the fiction. Norah, for her part, was quite intrigued and seemed genuinely interested in Carver—at least for a tumble or two in the sack, which is really all the boy needed in Varric's opinion.

Carver had been dwelling in his insurmountable embarrassment that he never noticed Norah come into Varric's suite, taking a position behind him.

"Personally, I found that the part where Carver takes me right on the bar in front of the whole tavern to be the most titillating."

Carver sat straight up, stock-still, at the sound of Norah's smooth voice right in his ear. She giggled darkly, her breath warm on his neck, which was covered in prickly gooseflesh immediately. Aveline and Aspasia dissolved into raucous laughter as Varric observed, curious as to where this little segue would lead the younger Hawke. He had hoped that sharing his story with Norah and Carver might get things started, but he had never dreamed that Norah might actually take on the role of instigator.

Carver turned his head slightly towards Norah, who was still leaned in close. "You did? I didn't get a chance to read that far," he whispered, gulping.

"Well, perhaps I could read that part to you," she offered, backing away from the furiously blushing young man. He turned further towards her now, raking over her form with his steely blue eyes.

"I think I'd like that," he said in a rare bold move. Norah offered a hand and he took it, rising from his seat as the barmaid led him off to one of the more remote rooms of the tavern. She closed the door once they were inside.

"I think you need to take a seat, young man," she started, prowling towards Carver. She pushed his chest gently with one finger and he plopped onto the bed, hard. Norah pulled a rolled-up copy of Varric's manuscript out of her apron pocket and flipped through the pages until she was nearly at the end. She started to read, her voice husky and seductive.

_For his final exam, Carver had been assigned the task of pleasuring Norah in a public place of her choosing. She had, to his dismay, chosen the main hall of the Hanged Man on a Saturday night. The place was usually standing-room only on Saturday nights, ensuring that Carver would have a huge audience for his…acting debut. But rules were rules and she was his teacher and he had to obey. So there he stood, outside the Hanged Man on a Saturday night, dressed for success, as it were. He wore no smalls under his loose trousers and had taken the time to trim up per Norah's request. He hoped that she wouldn't try to 'tap his cask' again. That had been rather messy and a little painful. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, Carver opened the door. As he stepped inside, everyone stopped what they were doing as they realized who had walked in. The thick crowd parted, revealing that Norah had already readied herself. She was perched on the bar top, wearing nothing more than her apron, which scarcely covered her full breasts. Her crossed legs both hinted at and hid away that secret part of her that he craved so often. As his gaze met hers, she uncrossed those lengthy gams slowly, motioning for him to approach her…_

"Maker, woman, stop!" Carver pleaded, running a finger under the collar of his chestplate. "That dwarf is downright obscene! How can you read that stuff?"

"Carver, sweetheart…relax. It's just for fun, that's all. There's nothing wrong with sex, you know. It's perfectly natural. How do you think any of us were born?" Norah smiled, approaching Carver and stroking his heated cheek softly. He was sweating, but she wasn't sure if it was because of the situation or because he was still in his armor. "Come, now. Let's get that armor off. Surely it can't be comfortable to wear that all the time?"

Carver nodded slowly, dumbstruck, as Norah expertly found the buckles for his armor, releasing the chestpiece and lifting it over his head. He had been apparently been sweating for quite a while, leaving his linen tunic clinging to his pecs enticingly. The barmaid smiled again as she took the liberty of divesting the young Hawke of his boots, setting them beside the chestplate. He gave a shuddering sigh as he relaxed a little, no longer trapped in that metal sweatbox that he wore almost constantly.

"Should I continue, or would you rather do something else?" Norah had let her linen dress fall off of one shoulder, exposing the smooth tanned skin, and she had definitely noticed that Carver looked at it like a roasted turkey leg.

"Uh…continue, actually. I'm kind of curious now," Carver mumbled, fixing his steel-blue eyes on her exposed shoulder.  _Such an innocuous body part…but so enticing…_

"Very well. As you wish, messere," Norah said as she resumed reading Varric's narrative in that same deviously bewitching voice.

_Carver reached Norah at long last, kissing her hard. They locked mouths for several long moments, tongues fighting desperately, as their hands wandered over each others' bodies. Norah found the ties for Carver's pants and yanked them free, thrusting her hand down to find him ready to go._

" _Take me, Carver," she panted as she slid off the bar and turned her backside towards him, making herself available for his pleasure._

" _Yes, teacher," he replied, taking her in one quick motion, causing her to squeal in delight. They moved quickly…_

Once again, Norah's reading of Varric's story was interrupted, but this time in a very decidedly different way. Carver had leapt up, pinning Norah against the door of the room, claiming her mouth with fevered passion as she dropped the booklet, forgotten. He had only kissed one girl before, years ago behind the barn. It had been a hurried thing, with little time to explore the different motions and sensations, so he took his time now. Norah was in no hurry either, relishing the feel of his soft lips against her own, his warm tongue pleading for entry into her mouth. She ran her fingers into his jet-black hair, tugging gently, eliciting soft throaty groans from Carver who returned the favor as he loosened her bun and coiled her soft locks around his wide fingers.

"Carver," Norah panted, "let me take your shirt off…"

He backed away momentarily, allowing the barmaid to strip him of the sweat-dampened garment slowly. She ran her hands up and down his torso, settling her fingers just inside the waistband of his trousers, teasing him as she resumed kissing his lips, jaw, neck. Carver lost himself in the moment, throwing his head back and simply accepting her ministrations and the exquisite sensations they were producing. After a few moments, Norah stopped and Carver snapped his head forward, opening his eyes just in time to see her slip her linen dress off, leaving her completely exposed.

She pushed him down on the bed again, unlacing his pants just like in Varric's story, only this time she tugged his pants down just enough to expose before she straddled him, rather than bending over the bar top in full view of half of Kirkwall.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Carver? I know you haven't done this before," Norah asked cautiously, preparing to end this should he simply say the words.

"Oh, Norah, I'm ready.  _Teach_  me," he gasped in response. Norah lowered herself slowly, letting him get used to this completely new sensation. Once she was sure he wouldn't fly apart in a few seconds, she began to move slowly, steadily against him, drinking in his facial expressions and noises as the experienced barmaid brought Carver to true manhood at last.

She guided his hands to where she wanted them, to those very female places that most men never bothered to care about. Carver wasn't most men; she wouldn't let him be. She again had the exquisite privilege of being a man's first; she knew she had a  _responsibility_  to his future lovers to make sure he learned well tonight. Norah would teach him how to bed a woman properly. He was, to his credit, a quick and eager study, willing to give as much as he received.

That first go-round didn't last long; Norah found that it never did with virgins. Carver was ready-to-go again quickly enough, however, and she resumed teaching him how to read a woman's response to his touch, to know if he was doing it too softly, too harshly, or just plain in the wrong spot. By the time he was reaching his peak for the second time, Norah was reaching her own and they crashed together, blissfully lost in the electricity of their passion.  _Taught him well, I did. Usually I have to fake it._  Spent, the couple laid there on the ticked mattress for several minutes, catching their breath. Finally Carver got up, washed himself quickly in the basin, and dressed again. Norah followed suit, and as she finished tying her apron, Carver fastened the last buckle of his chestplate. He kissed her once more and they emerged from the cramped room, still flushed from their exertions and both covered in multiple love bites on their necks.

"So, Hawke. I think that leaves just you as the sole remaining virgin in Kirkwall," Varric chuckled as they watched Carver and Norah emerge from the rearmost room, covered in hickeys and looking simultaneously guilty and satisfied. Carver didn't return to the suite, choosing to stick with Norah as she resumed her duties in the main hall.

Aspasia's eyes widened. Only Aveline knew for certain that she had never been with a man. She couldn't believe Avie would dare tell such a thing to Varric, of all people. Aveline noted Aspasia's expression and started shaking her head vigorously in denial.

"Relax, Hawke. It was a lucky guess, actually," Varric soothed. "All the time I spent watching you here in the tavern, I never noticed you pair up with a guy. I figured either you're a virgin and bent on staying that way, or you have a secret affiliation with the other  _team_ , if you get my drift."

Aspasia folded her arms on the table, plopping her forehead against them as she let out a deep sigh. "Maker, Varric, is it that obvious?"

"'Fraid so, sweetheart."

"Promise me that you won't try and do anything stupid like setting me up the way you did Carver? It's different for us girls…we can't just go jump a barmaid's bones. We have to worry about our honor and marriage prospects and all that bullshit," Aspasia complained, rightfully so.

"I'd never do that to you, Hawke," Varric reassured the blonde mage. "Not as long as you have the power to rain fiery death on me from afar." He leaned away from Hawke's punch and laughed heartily. "Seriously, though. I'd never do that. I only did it to Carver because I noticed the looks that he and Norah were giving each other. If there'd not been anything there…I wouldn't have had an inspiration for the story."

"Thanks, Varric," Aspasia replied.

"For what?"

"For getting Carver laid and me… _not_. I can take care of that, when I'm so inclined."

"Now that I have no doubt of, Hawke. Not a single doubt at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Tap the cask". Feel free to discuss. I don't really have a preconceived notion of what it is, honestly. It popped into my head and seemed like a very…Oghren…thing to say. Maybe he did say it at some point. I lost track of all of his wonderful euphemisms.


	14. Emptiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FYI: Game dialogue ahead.

_"I've been feeling empty as of late, like something is missing in my very soul. Back in Lothering, I used to sneak over for services at the Chantry. The Templars milling about always made me a bit too nervous to sit with the main congregation, but that little corner I found was perfect. When I used to say my prayers with Father, Mother, Bethany, and Carver before we all headed to bed, I always felt so safe, so protected. I miss Bethany. So does Carver. It's been over a year since she was taken from us. So I headed over to the Chantry with Aveline, and Carver. I hadn't been there since we managed to get into the city. It's positively gigantic. It makes the Chantry in Lothering look like a tiny storage shed. I wonder how it compares to Val Royeaux? But, as always, if I'm writing about it in here you know_ something _weird happened."_

Varric scratched at the light scruff that perpetually dusted his chin as he considered what on Earth could have happened during Hawke's first visit to the Chantry. He also tried to remember why he didn't go with her that day. _Oh yeah. Hung-over as all get out._  After several moments of contemplation, the most likely thing popped into his head. _That must have been the day she first saw Sebastian Vael._

* * *

Aspasia was still in bed, curled in a fetal position, beneath her fluffy down comforter. It was nine o'clock. She usually got out of bed around six or seven. Yet she wasn't sleeping. She couldn't. Her soul was disquiet lately, likely the result of the deeds required by her recent days as a mercenary. She had seen—and caused—a lot of bloodshed. More than she ever wanted to claim. It weighed on her, as she constantly struggled with how to best go about doing what was right for everybody. Sometimes it dawned on her that she simply couldn't satisfy everybody all the time, but usually she just pushed forward, ironheaded will determined to make it so. She had done it for a while now, especially since Malcolm Hawke had died over two years ago.

Today, she felt utterly empty inside. Hollow.  _Abandoned_. It had been over a year since Bethany died, and sometimes Aspasia still wanted to join her.

Eventually, Aspasia decided she would pay a visit to Aveline. The strong woman had a deep, abiding faith that was admirable even to those who didn't believe in the Maker. Even though she appeared tough as nails, in reality Aveline was a very calming force in Hawke's life. Aspasia threw off the comforter at last, stretching, as she tried to shake off the last vestiges of fatigue. She looked over and noticed Carver also still curled up under his covers. Before she could say anything, a choked sob slipped out from the cocooned form.  _As much as I miss her…I cannot imagine what it's like for him._ Aspasia's heart pained for Carver. He had changed so much over the past few years since Father died, and even more since Bethany's loss; some days it seemed like the twenty-year old scarcely wanted to live. She decided in that moment that she would take Carver with her. He, too, could use a balm for his troubled soul.

They arrived at the Viscount's Keep around eleven o'clock, making their way down to the Guard Quarters. Aveline sat on her bunk, reading through patrol notes from the last week. Aspasia rapped lightly on the open door. Aveline looked up, recognized the Hawkes, and breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a very tense past few days; there was a rash of muggings tearing through Lowtown that were a bit too-well-coordinated to be mere coincidence. She had only been with the guard for a couple of months, but Aveline Vallen was making a name for herself quickly as an unparalleled pillar of honest and righteous actions.

"Aveline, I hope we're not bothering you," Aspasia said quickly. "We can come back another time if this isn't good."

"Nonsense, Hawke. To be perfectly honest, I could use a brief respite from this," she said, gesturing at the piles of notes on the bed around her. She was starting to get the sense that something was up with the Guard itself, maybe even Captain Jevan, and she was still so new that the potential depth of the Guard's corruption truly frightened her. "So, what's going on?" The imposing woman kicked her feet out as she leaned back against her pillows, hands laced behind her head.

"I think I'm having a crisis of faith, Avie. Carver too," Aspasia jerked her head back, and Carver nodded quietly. It's like the more we try to do…the better we try to be…the more empty we feel."

Aveline thought for a couple of moments before responding with a heavy sigh.  _Had these two even taken a day to just sit and process everything that has happened over the past year?_  "Well, there's no amount of killing in the world, no amount of do-gooding in the world that can bring back those who were taken from us unjustly."

Carver nodded silently, his jaw twitching as his teeth ground together to keep from losing control of his emotions.

Aveline glanced alternately at Carver and Hawke. Both looked tired, frail,  _lost_. She felt the same way and fought it like a demon every day just to meet the appearance of being the tough, unyielding woman she was reputed to be. But Maker, it was hard. So very,  _very_  hard to remain so strong when inside, she was shattered into a million tiny little pieces. She knew that feeling from losing one person; the Hawkes had lost their father Malcolm, their home, and sister Bethany all in the span of a few short years. Add being sold into slavery by a sleazeball uncle, and…well…it was rather surprising that neither had been thrown in jail yet.

"I've got an idea," she blurted, as she pulled herself upright, rising quickly from her bed once she ducked to avoid smacking her head against the top bunk. "Come along." Aveline lightly gripped Hawke's shoulder as they walked out of her quarters, Carver right behind. Aveline paused for a moment before remembering to stuff her notes into her foot locker.  _If I'm on to what I think I am…I'd be a dead woman if anyone saw those papers._

The trio emerged from the Keep, facing the bright midday sun. Aveline hadn't managed to get out of the Keep during actual daylight hours for a week since she had been put on overnight patrol duty. She felt like a mole, squinting at the brightness of everything. Thankfully, the Chantry wasn't far away. Ten minutes later, they were ascending the steps leading into the Chantry's courtyard. As they got closer, they could hear a man and woman arguing. Reaching the top of the staircase, Aspasia saw an older Chantry Mother and a much younger man bickering in front of the Chanter's Board.

The man was in his twenties, but certainly no older than Aveline, who had turned 25 last month. He wore armor, though it was unlike anything Aspasia had ever seen. She figured he must not be from Kirkwall; perhaps not even the Free Marches at all. He wore loose black leathers under the bright scale mail vest which hit mid-thigh. The hood of his vest was lined in grey wolf's fur, which was not seen often in these parts. His chestplate, bracers, and greaves were all made of bright white dragonbone, trimmed in gold. All signs pointed to this young man being nobility, perhaps even royalty, based upon the fineness of his gear. On top of that, he was an archer; a finely crafted longbow hung at his back. As he turned to the woman, Aspasia took note of his tanned face, chiseled features, and combed-back thick auburn hair. But it was his eyes that absolutely captivated her.

 _Oh. Oh MY…_ Aspasia had always received compliments on her dark blue orbs, but they seemed like nothing compared to the impossibly bright aqua eyes that this man had. She had never, ever seen eyes that blue, that bright. She again questioned if he was even from the Free Marches. Perhaps he was from somewhere truly exotic, in the North.  _He looks like he comes from somewhere that gets cold._ It seemed like the only way she could justify someone being born with eyes that looked like the blue glacial ice she had seen floating around during their journey from Gwaren.

The woman, on the other hand, was perhaps in her sixties; silvered hair was coiled in a bun at the nape of her neck, fine lines marked the usual places. The robe she wore was of much higher quality than the average Sister, or even Mother. Aspasia had originally figured she was the Revered Mother based on her age, but as she took in the fineness of the embroidery, she remembered that Kirkwall's Chantry was the regional diocese, so the woman must be the Grand Cleric. Concern twisted the woman's face as she implored the man to stop. Aspasia couldn't help but compare the argument to ones that Leandra and Carver had had many times over the years; it seemed to reek of that mother-son type angst.

"Sebastian! Stop…this.. _MADNESS_! The Chantry cannot condone revenge!" The woman was trying to keep the young man from placing a notice on the board. He pinned it there anyway, seemingly just high enough to be out of the woman's reach.

The auburn-haired archer turned to face her, defiant. "It is my right, my  _duty_ , to show these assassins there is nowhere in the Free Marches to hide!" His accent was one Aspasia had never heard before, either; the syllables rolled so thickly off his tongue that she could barely understand him. Yet at the same time, the deepness, velvetiness of his voice was enchanting.

" _This_  is murder," the Grand Cleric screeched as she reached up on tipped toes to snatch the man's notice from the board. She waved it victoriously, for the briefest of moments, before it was re-pinned to the board with an arrow that had been loosed so quickly, so accurately, that Aspasia could hardly believe it came from the young man. It had, though, because he still held his bow, string quivering from being released. His eyes blazed in anger as he lowered the longbow.

"No. What happened to my  _family_  was murder!" He spun around to stomp off so quickly that he didn't notice Aspasia, Carver, and Aveline almost right behind him. He jostled his shoulder hard into Aspasia's, knocking her back into Carver, who was just quick enough to steady her.

The man stopped, returning in a flash so graceful it looked like he glided on air. The anger that had just been written all over his body was gone, replaced by concern for the person he had practically run over.

"Are you alright, my Lady?" He gasped. "I'm so very sorry. I let my temper get the better of me, and I didn't see you there." The blue of his eyes now seemed less icy and more soft, like a spring sky in the midday as he searched her for any outward sign of injury. His concern was genuine; the pained expression on his face told no lies. It was a refreshing sight; over the past year or so in Kirkwall, Aspasia had been quickly forced to learn that everybody was hiding something, the evidence for which was usually painted all over their faces. So, in her efforts to become the most effective mercenary and general do-gooder that she could be, Aspasia had learned to read faces very well.

Aspasia rubbed her shoulder lightly mostly out of reflex, not because the impact had actually hurt in any meaningful capacity. "I'm fine, really. I caught the tail end of your, ah,  _discussion_  there; it sounds like you have good reason to be upset."

The auburn-haired man hung his head. "Aye," he replied softly. "I just lost my family to a pack of assassins, and I'm desperate to avenge them."

Aspasia scanned his face. He was young, but there was something about him that indicated he had an old soul. He had seen much in his years; perhaps he led a colorful life. But it was those eyes that were so jarringly beautiful—surely they would haunt her long after he went on his way.

"Your whole family? I'm very sorry to hear that," Aspasia offered. She mulled over whether or not to share her losses with him as well, ultimately choosing to stay quiet. He didn't need to hear her pathetic tale when he was so clearly still shocked by his own loss.

"I-I was as well," he choked. "I…must be going. Again, I'm sorry for running you over. Please forgive me."

"All is forgiven, messere." The man nodded towards Aspasia and her companions before walking away from the Courtyard, his strides long and powerful. She looked at the board; the Grand Cleric had obviously walked away when the man did but had left his notice on the board. It was easy to pick out; the only one with an arrow stuck through it. Carver, being the tallest of the three, reached up and pulled it down, handing it to his sister. Aspasia scanned the notice quickly. He was a Prince, from Starkhaven. She didn't even know where that was.

"Starkhaven…that's north from here, along the Minanter. Highlands," Aveline offered, scanning the note over Aspasia's shoulder. "That might explain the accent. I've heard those Highlanders have a really strange sounding native language. I wonder if they all have eyes that blue, though? I might consider relocating if they do!"

Aspasia chuckled, glad to know she wasn't the only one who had noticed those eyes.  _Flint Company. I bet the Red Iron would love me even more if I got rid of them._  Even if she didn't want to make extra coin, Aspasia would have taken on the Prince's request; she was always a sucker for helping others seek vengeance. She'd approach Meeran later once the task was done to see about getting some bonus coin for her proactivity. Folding the notice, she stuffed it into her belt pouch and the trio continued up the final staircase into the Kirkwall Chantry.

They were early for the afternoon service, so Aspasia, Carver, and Aveline each wandered around the massive house of worship, looking at statuaries and reading various plaques and inscriptions. When the service started in earnest around 45 minutes later, Aspasia was stunned to see the angry auburn-haired Prince in Chantry robes, calm and relaxed, as he took his place with the other Brothers and Sisters on the dais. They began chanting the Canticle of Transfigurations. As the Prince hit a particular verse, Aspasia noticed that he stiffened slightly:

_Those who bear false witness_

___And work to deceive others, know this:_

_There is but one Truth._

_All things are known to our Maker_

_And He shall judge their lies._

Based on what little she knew of the Prince, it didn't surprise her in the slightest. For the first time in a long time, Aspasia was actually looking forward to doing some mercenary work. Maybe she'd manage to end up on the right side of the battle this time. At least there was the promise of getting to know more about this stunningly handsome man.

After vespers had concluded, Aspasia sought out the Grand Cleric to discuss the matter of this intriguing Brother-Prince situation. She wondered if the woman might have any additional insight for her to consider before she embarked on this quest. Aspasia's efforts were rewarded; she learned that Sebastian had just been invested as a Chantry Brother right before news of his family's slaughter reached him. The Grand Cleric's description of his revocation of his vows as "rash" was interesting; she seemed more concerned with the possibility of Sebastian leaving the Chantry for title and worldly possessions. Aspasia felt he was justified in forswearing his vows in order to seek justice for his family; she could easily see herself doing the same thing in his shoes. Overall, she found that the conversation with Elthina did more to strengthen the sympathy she felt for the Prince and wanted to get this quest taken care of as quickly as possible for him.

Aspasia, Aveline, and Carver walked out of the Chantry, feeling worlds better. Not only did they receive some spiritual healing during the services, but they found themselves about to be involved with mercenary work that was actually on the right side of their moral values for a change. It never hurt to get on a Prince's good side, either.


	15. Maps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of game dialogue here, too.

_"On the advice of Varric, I went down to Darktown to find this guy who used to be a Grey Warden. We need those maps of the Deep Roads, and this might be our only option. He goes by the name of Anders, though I suspect that's a fake name, and he is a spirit healer. He agreed to help me in exchange for helping him. His request requires me to butt heads with the Templars. I'm not sure I should do this…but we need those maps…we need to get into the Deep Roads. It's our only way out of Gamlen's hovel. Every fiber of my being tells me this guy is trouble. I trust Varric, though. He hasn't led me wrong yet."_

"Oh…Hawke…I'm so, so sorry. I had no idea what he was capable of when I insisted you meet," Varric muttered to himself. His actual intent for introducing the two mages, beyond obtaining maps, was to potentially spark a relationship. Hawke was in sore need of something more than he could provide for her, and he knew Anders was terribly lonely. They were both mages, so it stood to reason that they would find plenty of common ground. If nothing else, perhaps Hawke could learn to be a better healer, because she couldn't even heal a scraped knee.

* * *

"Look, Hawke, there's one more thing I need you to do for the expedition," Varric said, taking a swig of the Hanged Man's notoriously toxic swill. "I  _need_  maps with alternate entrances. Bartrand went to our go-to entrance last week and it was blocked off. We need another way in or we're sunk before we even set foot out of Kirkwall." He pondered the cards in his hand, rearranging them into sequential suits. He looked over at his pile of chips, plucked three, and plopped them into the center pot.  _Two pair._

Aspasia considered her cards before deciding to discard two. She received two new cards from Carver. This hand was much better; a full house. "Read 'em and weep, fellas." Varric and Carver groaned their disapproval as she swept the pot into her arms. Too bad the chips were only wood; if it were even coppers, she would be living well for a month at least.

Norah, the barmaid, sauntered in with three fresh tankards of ale, placing them down for her patrons as she picked up the empties. When she leaned down to give Carver his fresh drink, she made sure to turn in towards him slightly, giving him a nice, long look down the front of her low-cut dress. She caught his gaze and saw him start to blush slightly, his steel-blue eyes narrowing. She stood back up and left, ghosting her fingers across the back of his neck as she did so. His narrowed eyes grew dark as he watched her leave, hips swaying with purpose as she tossed him a lusty look over her shoulder.  _That woman. I'm gonna have to grab her for another go later…_

Aspasia sorted her wooden chips into neat stacks of ten each, wishing that they were sovereigns so they could get on with their expedition already. Living with Gamlen was proving more difficult by the day; now he was going through her letters for any coin that they might hold after he noticed that one of the requests for Hawke's assistance had included a sovereign as an up-front payment. To make matters worse, he was starting to talk too freely about her abilities when he was "hanging out" at the Blooming Rose; with so many Templar recruits making use of Madame Lusine's facilities…well, Aspasia had definitely noticed that Templars were coming around the Old City Slums much more frequently than they had before.

"How— _where_ —am I going to find those, Varric? The mere mention of the Deep Roads here sends most people scurrying for cover," Aspasia whined. Her mind wandered back to money problems momentarily. She had 23 sovereigns, almost halfway to the goal of 50. However, she had to invest in improved armor, especially after Carver's close call last night.  _Clearing Lowtown of thugs was no simple task…_

"I know a gal who say she knows guy in Darktown that used to be a Warden. He runs a clinic down there," the dwarf muttered, watching Aspasia stack and re-stack her chips. He knew that when she did stuff like that compulsively, her mind was far away. Aveline had come to him yesterday, complaining that she had observed the Templars' increased patrols near Gamlen's house. After the Hawkes left today, he had a meeting with Ser Thrask planned. Hopefully a decent handful of gold would convince him to divert the Templars' attentions to other parts of Lowtown.

"A clinic? He's a healer, then?" Carver asked. They certainly could stand to befriend a healer, especially one who was familiar with the Deep Roads. His brows furrowed, though, at the thought that they might be associating with another apostate.  _More Templar heat,_ he thought.

"Yep. One of the best, or so I've heard. If you two sweet-talk him, he might even be convinced to join our little group. Surely he could use the extra coin to better outfit his facilities." Varric absentmindedly shuffled the cards, cutting and re-cutting them without thought. "Are you familiar with the little shop for Ferelden goods that a gal named Lirene runs?"

"I have heard of it," Carver piped up. "I stumbled upon it a few days ago."

"She's the one who knows this healer. Go talk to her during business hours. I trust you to make your inquiries discreetly? I have a feeling it's going to be tough getting her to tell you about him." Varric had stopped fiddling with the cards, draining the rest of his tankard.

"I think all we'll really have to do is appeal to her as one Fereldan to another," Aspasia said.

Varric flashed an easy smile and chuckled lightly. "True, true. Maybe this will be a chance for you to help out some of your fellow countryment too. Make a few trades with her, donate to the cause. Being a fellow Fereldan is good, but it never hurts to put some icing on that cake."

"I'll go now," Aspasia offered. "It's only five o'clock. Surely she's still there."

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Aspasia and Carver were stunned when they walked into Lirene's Fereldan Imports. Expecting a little trading shop, they were surprised to find the facility packed nearly wall-to-wall with desperate refugees, most pleading with Lirene for help in so many ways. One man's wife had died and he needed help raising money to give her a proper burial. Another woman was in labor and having trouble. All were hungry. All were dirty. All were seeking shelter. A side room was stuffed with cots and three screens blocked off small copper tubs for the refugees to get the rare, precious bath they wanted. It was less a trading post and more a shelter for the needy. Aspasia listened to Varric's advice, trading some extra daggers that she wouldn't ever use for a slightly nicer longsword that she would give to Aveline. She had noticed as Carver turned it over in his hands that the very end of the pommel had Smithy's signature symbol stamped into the metal. A memory of the Lothering blacksmith flashed quickly into her mind, and she found herself wondering how he was doing, if he had even survived the Blight at all. Lirene had been harsh and unwilling to disclose much at first, but after Carver plopped a couple of sovereigns into the donation box, she told the Hawkes that the people in Darktown knew that to find the healer, look for the lit lanterns.

Aspasia and Carver returned to the Hanged Man to let Varric know that the first part of their quest to find this healer had been a success.

"I'm going to head over now, before he leaves," Aspasia huffed. She wanted to get this over with, to get those maps. Then she could resume her efforts to raise the gold needed to get underway and get off of the Templars' radar for a little while.  _I can't believe I'm thinking that hanging out with darkspawn would be more fun than running from Templars..._

"I believe he actually lives in his clinic as well, so yeah. He should be there. Word to the wise though, Hawke. I don't know how much Lirene said about this guy, but I've heard some things of my own," Varric started, voice stern.

"Not much, really. The bit with the lanterns was it," Carver interrupted.

"Let's just say I've heard he is…jumpy…with strangers, from what I understand. I guess he's had a few run-ins with some nasty Templars," Varric cautioned, peaking one eyebrow as he looked up through his eyelashes. For Varric Tethras to give a warning of this nature…the guy must have some issues.  _Great,_  Aspasia thought.  _But hey, maybe he'll have some tips on how I can keep those jerks off my back for as long as possible until we can get down to the Deep Roads._

"I'll come back as soon as I have something to share, Tethras," Aspasia said, rising from her seat and smoothing her robes. She turned and grabbed her bracers, sliding them on and fastening the buckles. She smiled slyly at Varric as she grabbed her staff and bounced out the door, Carver reluctantly on her heels.

"Hey. Junior," Varric snipped. "Keep her tongue in check. I don't think this guy takes well to sarcasm, at least not right away. You might try to do the talking for once."

"Yeah, right, Varric," Carver grumbled. "Like Aspasia's gonna allow that. You know she's in charge of all of us, even you."

Varric couldn't help but nod. He couldn't deny that he had been under the thrall of Aspasia Hawke since day one. She just had that effect on people. Carver lightly jogged down the stairs to the front door of the tavern, where Aspasia stood, tapping her toe impatiently. He held the door for his older sister and shot a wink at Norah as he followed Aspasia out the door.  _"I'll be back later,"_  he mouthed. Norah looked down and away to hide her slow smile. She had only meant to "break the boy in" as Varric had put it, but she couldn't resist those blue eyes of his. She only hoped that she'd be able to let him down gently if he wanted to take it further. Norah had been married once, and it had gone badly. She had no interest in pursuing a relationship again, especially not since she worked in a tavern, which always seemed to draw out a viciously jealous monster from even the most mild-mannered of men. And Carver? He was a warrior, always out fighting, and soon to embark on a trip that would most likely kill him.  _Yep, she thought, better to keep him at a distance, but that doesn't mean that we can't enjoy each others' physical presence. Safer that way. For both of us._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

The clinic was at the very farthest corner of Darktown. Neither of the Hawkes had dared to venture that far into the dangerous underbelly of Kirkwall before. Aspasia had anticipated having to ask around to find the place, but as it turned out all she had to do was follow the wounded and sick as they became more numerous the closer they got and, indeed, they all gravitated towards a small office with two lit lanterns outside.

Aspasia and Carver walked in the front door. A young boy lay on a cot, unconscious…perhaps even dead. A man was huddled over him, his back to them. His robes were once finely crafted, but now were tattered and time-worn. Honey blonde hair was tied back into a messy ponytail, and a glint of gold flashed from his earlobe. A soft green light emanated from between the two bodies, growing steadily stronger, until the mage fell over onto his side, spent. The boy, for his part, sat up like he had been hit by lightning, sucking in a deep breath, and his grateful mother embraced him tightly.

"I don't have much, serah," the mother muttered at the mage's assistant, rocking back and forth with her boy in her arms. Serafina, the younger of the two assistants, was a young half-elf, her face decidedly human, but with gently pointed ears. Her shaggy caramel-brown hair was short in the back and much longer in the front. Her kind dark eyes softened sympathetically towards the young single mother as she realized that yet another patient would receive services for free. It wasn't that Serafina didn't enjoy helping the needy—far from it—but she had to put a roof over her head and food in her belly somehow, and 'thank yous' didn't really carry much value as currency.

"No worries, Matilda. Perhaps if you brought some of your prize-winning produce? I know Anders would appreciate that," the young assistant said, smoothing her hand along the frazzled mother's upper arm.

Matilda's face brightened as she stopped rocking her boy. Her garden's bounty was particularly plentiful this year. She started mentally compiling a basket or two of fruits and vegetables to bring back in the morning for the kind-hearted mage and his lovely assistants. She sized up Serafina; the half-elf couldn't have been more than sixteen.  _So young to be working so hard…and for no pay, I'm sure. Maker, bless her, bless Maria, and especially bless Anders._

"Thank you, Serafina. I'll be by in the morning. Any requests?"

"Well, I have a particular craving for pears, if you have any…"

"Do I ever! The trees went nuts this year. I'll bring you some fresh, plus I have a few jars of preserves. Is there anything special that either Maria or Anders likes?"

"Well…I do know Anders is quite fond of strawberries. Maria's been hoping for some apples to make apple butter with, as well."

"I'll make him a strawberry pie, and I've got a bushel of lovely green apples that make fabulous apple butter," Matilda offered. Serafina grinned; she knew her co-workers would love the gesture. The mother and her boy walked gingerly out of the clinic, past Aspasia and Carver. The Hawkes slowly approached Serafina.

"Will he be alright? He looks quite drained," Aspasia started, casting a concerned sidelong glance at Anders, who was conscious but still laying on the ground trying to catch his breath. The flame-haired Maria knelt by his side, softly stroking his back.

"Oh yes. Anders will be fine. It just takes a bit to recharge after bringing someone back from the dead," the young girl started.  _He can resurrect? I_ need _him to be on my crew going into the Deep Roads._

Aspasia and Carver continued speaking with Serafina for several minutes as they tried to get a better feel for the situation in Darktown. They learned that Anders had been running this clinic for about three months, and that he had come from Ferelden, like them.

As they spoke, Anders started to stir. As he became more conscious, a bolt of awareness shot through him. Alarmed, he leapt to his feet, Justice threatening to break through as his eyes swirled blue-white and bright cracks of blue light spread across his skin.  _Where's the hostile?_ He spun around to see a young man and woman talking to Serafina. The raven-haired man was obviously a warrior, a large, ornate greatsword strapped on his back.  _No massive armor. Not a Templar._ The woman was the mage. Her robes were rather new, but obviously handed down. The staff at her back had a pair of nug effigies tied to it.  _Curious, but a warrior and mage traveling together can't be good. They're not sick, not injured. They want something, and I don't believe it has anything to do with needing my healing. They must be spies…for the Templars…for the Wardens..._ Justice's efforts to emerge grew a bit stronger _._

Suddenly, Aspasia sensed something had stirred. She spun around and saw Anders standing defensively behind them, seemingly ready to cast. His eyes glowed a supernatural blue; cracks of the same intense blue light peppered his skin.

"I have made this place a santctuary of peace and healing! Why do you threaten it?" The mage shouted, reaching over his shoulder and grabbing his staff, pointing it at Aspasia and Carver.

"We mean to bring no harm either to you or your clinic, Anders," Aspasia started, hand slowly starting to reach for her own staff, though with the other man having the advantage, there was no way she'd be able to cast before he did.

Carver, who had wisely heeded Varric's warning, stepped up and put his hand on Aspasia's shoulder. She instantly remembered the dwarf's words and let her hands drop to her sides, relenting, indicating that she did not intend to even defend herself even though he was clearly ready to strike in an instant.

Both Anders and Justice recognized her gesture. As her calmed eyes met his, Justice's supernatural blue light retreated almost instantly. He sucked in a quick breath through parted lips, a slight blush tinging his cheeks. He tilted his head slightly and approached, assessing the woman standing before him.  _She…is…beautiful_.  _I could listen to what she has to say, at least._

"I apologize if I seemed defensive," Anders started, any trace of nervousness carefully squashed as he oozed charm.  _What are you doing, Anders? Shut up, Justice. I've got this._ His voice was smooth and velvety, accent purposely mixed and untraceable; something he had spent many hours practicing. It had helped to keep him as indistinct as possible when he had been on the run from the Templars. "It seems no matter how many people I help, there are always Templars just itching to get their hands on me."

"Understood. I have spent the majority of my life actively avoiding them. My name is Hawke, and this is my brother Carver," Aspasia replied as she gestured towards her brother and offered a polite smile. She got a better look at the mage now that he had come closer and no longer glowed. He had warm amber eyes and honey blonde hair that reminded her briefly of Alistair. His face, however, was more delicate in its structure. His jaw was defined, but rather narrow, as it came to a delicate chin. His high cheekbones were further accented by the scruff that started just below them, the shadowy fuzz providing contrast. Aspasia would have guessed he was in his late twenties if it weren't for the grey hairs flecking his scruff, eyebrows, and sideburns. These grey hairs, the faint worry lines that creased his forehead and soft crow's feet at the corners of his eyes led Aspasia to guess that he was in his mid-thirties at the youngest. Either that or he had led a very hard life. Something told her it was probably a good mix of both.

"Ah, so you're a criminal as well," Anders joked. "An apostate, I mean. We're treated like criminals here, so you'd better get used to keeping your eyes open for Templars and people who would turn you over for a quick silver or two." He kept a steady gaze on the young woman before him. She had curly chin-length golden blonde hair that literally glittered like gold; Anders had never seen hair so shiny. Her large eyes were rimmed with long, dark blonde lashes, the blue of her irises slightly darker than the steel blue of the man beside her. She had freckles sprinkled across her entire face, even her lush pink lips. The woman had such an innocent, sweet face. She was young—far too young to ever be interested in him romantically, he was sure—but there was something about her that caused him to ache inside. She had started to speak, but he didn't hear any of the words. He was transfixed on watching her mouth move, forming syllables, as he wondered if the freckled lips were as soft as they looked. It had been a long time since he had met a woman that he had been drawn to so instantaneously. He'd been on the run from the Templars, then his little stint with the Wardens, and thoughts of that nature had simply had no place.

"Anders? Are you okay? Did you hear anything I said?"

The mage snapped out of his daydream.  _Shit. Busted._ "I'm sorry, I'm still a little woozy from healing. Say it again?" He mumbled, the lie tumbling from his lips easily. Justice grumbled disapproval at this, as he did at any perceived act of dishonesty. It was something that Anders had learned to tune out, for the most part, and this time was no exception.

"I said that I heard you had knowledge of where I might find maps with entrances to the Deep Roads."

Anders shuddered at the thought of anybody going into the Deep Roads voluntarily. He had done his time there, and would again in a couple of decades if he lived that long. The taint that he took into his body during the Joining ceremony back at Vigil's Keep would catch up to him, just as it would for all Grey Wardens. Not even the presence of Justice could keep it at bay forever. If he lived long enough, the Calling would urge him to make a final journey—alone—into the heart of darkspawn territory.

"Andraste's knickers, why would you want to go there voluntarily?"

"I'm going on an expedition to find a lost thaig with some dwarven allies. There's promise of good coin to be had. You're more than welcome to join. I'm sure you could use a fat windfall to spruce this place up a bit. I'd be willing to give you a share of my generous portion," Aspasia offered.

"And let me guess…you don't have a healer. You're certainly not one yourself; I can sense that," Anders surmised, giving a faint smile. While it was good to be needed, it was also a terrible burden to be a party's healer; he couldn't defend himself while doing so.

"You would be correct. I specialize in elemental and force magic. My sister was the healer of the family," Aspasia said wistfully, recalling the day that Bethany discovered her true talent with Morrigan's help.

Carver hung his head and swallowed hard as he remembered that night too; the smile on her face was so amazing when she saw that she had healed their older sister. Time was not easing the void left in his heart where his twin once dwelled. He and Bethany had been so close; they could finish each other's sentences and often anticipate each others' thoughts and actions. She was the yin to his yang, the white to his black. Half of his heart, his soul had died with her, and that made him more angry that any word could ever describe. He balled his fists momentarily before pushing down the hurt again, as he always forced himself to do. It was so easy to blame his older sister, and he often did even though he knew it wouldn't bring Bethany back. Aspasia wasn't to blame, he knew that. Really, he did. He knew Bethany would charge the ogre and did nothing to stop her. He had sensed it far before she acted. He could have stopped her but for whatever reason didn't. But that was beside the point now; he had to make sure his mother and Aspasia stayed safe. Mother especially.

Anders took notice of the warrior's shift in demeanor. He sensed that there was a lot of pain and anger in the young man, wondering what could have happened to someone so young to make them hurt so badly. He sensed a lot of hurt in Aspasia as well. These two had been through a lot in their tender years. In an instant, he made up his mind. He would help these two in whatever capacity he could. Money didn't matter. Justice approved of Anders' decision, which further steeled his resolve.

"I will give you the maps, but I ask that you help me in return," the apostate offered.

"Sure…within reason…nothing involving animals or children," Aspasia started, then chuckled. "You aren't going to ask me to run up to the Knight-Commander and give her a wedgie, are you?"

Anders was taken aback. Granted, that wasn't exactly what he was going to ask of her, but it was close enough to truly surprise him. "Well, not exactly," he started slowly.

"Oh…now  _this_  I have to hear," Carver muttered.

"A friend of mine was taken by the Templars a few months ago. Karl is his name. He's been managing to get letters to me and the past couple have been…worrisome. I need to get into the Templar Hall—to the Gallows—so I can break him out, but I can't do it alone. Will you help me do this tomorrow night?" Anders pleaded, desperation in his eyes. Karl was one of the most precious people Anders had ever let into his life; he loved him. He had to try to get him out of the Templars' grasp before he was made Tranquil.

The gravity of Anders' request hit Aspasia and Carver like a ton of bricks. It was a lot to ask for in return for a lousy map.  _But,_  Aspasia thought,  _I can tell his heart is in the right place; that he really cares for this person. If I help him with this…he should be pretty easily convinced to join the expedition._

"I'll do it."

Carver looked at Aspasia in stunned silence. They were going into the heart of the Templar Order in Kirkwall. Two apostates. Willfully going  _to_  the Templars.  _Aspasia must be utterly daft._

Anders smiled broadly, warmly, something he hadn't done in far too long. He had things to look forward to for the first time in years: fresh air, a beautiful woman, and the promise of seeing his friend.


	16. Tranquility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More game dialogue.

_Are you fucking kidding…an abomination? What a disaster. Anders' friend was just bait. The Templars figured he'd come and wanted to take him into the Circle. And then we find out that our miracle worker is harboring a spirit called Justice. Perfect. That's just who I need to be associating with if I want to stay off of the Templars' radar for any length of time. Oh, and to get out of that mess, we had to kill a shitload of Templars. Looks like it's just going to be Carver and Mother soon. No way will I stay out of Templar custody for more than the next week. Tops. I guarandamntee it._

Varric shook his head.  _No way could we have known what Anders really was before that night._

* * *

Aspasia, Carver, Varric, and Anders walked out of the Kirkwall Chantry. Anders' worst fear had come true; Karl had already been made Tranquil and the last letter had simply served as bait. To make matters worse, Justice had made an arse of himself, and the whole party had been forced to kill at least a  _dozen_  Templars. But Aspasia thought the real icing on the cake had been when Anders killed Karl anyway, to save him from living the rest of his life as a Tranquil.

They reached the bottom of the long staircase and stopped, panting. Varric took out his handkerchief and started wiping the blood off of his face. Carver took a long pull of a health potion. Aspasia turned to Anders, eyes narrowed, hands on hips.

"Mind telling me what  _that_  was all about?" Her tone was accusatory. Anders didn't blame her one bit, and neither did Justice. He had hoped that this wouldn't happen, that he would have more time to get to know Aspasia before dropping such a weighty thing on her— _oh by the way, I'm an abomination, hope you don't mind_ —but it was too late for that.

"We…need to talk about that, yeah. Drop by my clinic when you get the chance and I'll tell you everything you want to know. I promise…plus I believe I owe you some maps," Anders said, sighing.

"Don't mind if I do," Aspasia replied sharply. "Please, by all means…lead the way." She gestured for Anders to take her directly to his Darktown clinic.  _Ugh. She's not even going to let me have a few moments to figure out what—how—to tell her, is she? Shit…_

Carver and Varric excused themselves, leaving the two mages to make the rest of the trek to Darktown alone. They didn't speak, not even a single word. Reaching the front door of his clinic, Anders hesitated to unlock the front door. Once inside, as soon as the door closed again, Aspasia went on the offensive, folding her arms across her chest.

"How DARE you? How dare you put me, my brother, and my friend in that position? Do you know how hard it's been for me to stay off of Meredith's reports for the past year? These maps had better be printed on solid gold, Anders. Solid. Fucking.  _Gold_." Her blue eyes narrowed, and her face was flush with anger.

 _Even furious…Maker preserve me, but she is beautiful._ "Look, Aspasia, I'm sorry…I just didn't think…"

Aspasia rolled her eyes. "That much is obvious."

"Will you let me have a second to compose my thoughts, please? It's not every day you find yourself needing to explain how you came about to be an abomination to one of the most lovely creatures you've ever laid eyes on," Anders snapped.  _Oh no…_  He braced himself for the next onslaught.

Aspasia unfolded her arms and looked down at the dirt floor of the clinic. "You…think I'm lovely?"

Anders dared to take a single step towards her. "You're  _beautiful_ ," he whispered.

Aspasia blushed deeply. As mad as she was, it had been a long time since someone that she didn't find completely physically repulsive—like Meeran—had paid her such a compliment. But be that as it may…Anders had still taken an extreme liberty with her freedom.  _Not every apostate is as willing to taunt the Templars as you._

Anders found that words were failing him as he looked at Aspasia's deepening pink cheeks. He knew it was so wrong, but he just wanted to kiss her so badly.  _She would set me aflame. Without hesitation._ He sighed deeply as he repressed the urge to claim her, and figured the simple truth was the best way to go about explaining Justice to Aspasia.

"It's not even like I'm an…abomination, really. What you saw in the Chantry…that was Justice. Maker, this is hard to explain…anyway…when I was serving with the Grey Wardens in Amaranthine, I met this spirit of Justice that was trapped outside of the Fade. I agreed to become his host." Anders paced slowly, recounting the night he merged with the spirit.

 _Oh, this should be good._ "And that makes you  _not_  an abomination  _how_ , exactly?"

"Abominations are demon-based. Justice is a spirit. Demons embody the sinful nature of man, while Spirits embody our virtues," Anders replied nonchalantly.

"Well, he didn't really seem like a happy sort…" Aspasia trailed off, chuckling lightly.

 _This isn't funny. Why is she laughing?_ "Since when is Justice happy? Since when is it easy or simple or pleasant? Justice is hard, more often than most realize," Anders snipped.

"Sorry…I guess I'm just not used to speaking with people who...have an extra passenger. So, is Justice doing running commentary on everything that you do? How does your relationship with him work?"

Anders smiled, shaking his head as he dared another step closer. "No, it's not like that. We're one now. Not even the greatest scholars could tell you where he ends and I begin. I feel his thoughts as my own."

The gravity of his situation hit Aspasia hard.  _I'm not sure if I should fear or pity him._ "How much control…"

Anders grew solemn. "I can't call him out at will, if that's what you're wondering. He only makes an appearance when I've lost all control over myself."

"Like when your dear friend has been made Tranquil and left as bait by the Templars…" Aspasia whispered as she looked away.  _Pity. Definitely pity him_.

"Precisely. There is very little the Templars do that doesn't make Justice threaten to make an arse of himself," Anders muttered, smiling. "I must say he made a splendid showing tonight."

"Well…the glowing eyes and crackly skin do add to your whole sexy tortured rebel mage look," Aspasia offered, winking lightly.

"Perhaps I should check a looking glass more often then." Anders took another tentative step towards Aspasia, smiling. "Thank you for not bolting; you're the first person I've ever fully explained Justice to, and one of the prettiest women I've had the pleasure of talking with in a long while." He paused.  _I want to just touch…oh, but I shouldn't. Not yet._

_Is he…thinking about kissing me? Now?_

After what seemed like eternity, Anders backed away, turning towards a chest of drawers in the corner. "I thought I was done with the Wardens…but if you have need of me, I'm more than willing to tag along. We Wardens can sense the darkspawn long before most can see them, so I'm sure I could be of use. Oh, and by the way," Anders said, digging in a drawer and tossing a roll of parchment Aspasia's way, "Here are those maps. Sorry they're not on gold. I swear to you, I will find a way to make tonight up to you and your companions. But understand that I needed to make sure you were trustworthy enough to give those maps to…I hate that I had to expose you unduly to the Templars in order to do it."

Aspasia caught the rolled up maps, unfurling them slightly to ensure they were, in fact, maps. "Thank you, Anders. We certainly could use someone with your talents. We won't be ready to go for a little while yet, though. I have to save up the coin to buy-in on it first." She paused. "So now that I'm going to be on the Templars' shit list…any tips? I get the impression that you're quite familiar with their tactics."

"I escaped from the Circle seven times before getting conscripted into the Grey Wardens. I…think that makes me qualified to discuss their tactics, yes," Anders laughed.

Aspasia grinned, putting a hand on her hip. "So you're good at escape, not so much at staying hidden, then."

Anders returned the grin, shrugging his shoulders. "I'd say that's a fair assessment, actually. To be honest…if the Templars, the Circle, treated mages with even an ounce of humane respect, I would have never left. There is a certain comfort in being surrounded by other mages. But when you're ripped from your family as a child, never to see them again in many cases…told that your Maker-given gifts are a curse…in the Circle, the Templars treat you like a bloody criminal just for being born. I don't care how they try to sugarcoat it, what they do is wrong. As a fellow mage, surely you must see it?"

Aspasia nodded. "I do. The mages must be free. The Maker would never want this."

 _Oh, that is music to my ears._ "Well, I'm glad that we agree on this, Hawke. I think we'll get along just fine. If you ever have need of me, that whole Deep Roads thing aside, I'll be here in the Clinic. I think we could do a lot of good for the mages here in Kirkwall. I look forward to working with you."

"And I with you. Good night, Anders." Aspasia smiled and walked out of the clinic, Anders watching her gently swaying hips as she disappeared off into Darktown.  _Maker, she is…perfection._


	17. Bait and Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even more game dialogue, but mixed up a bit.

_"The more time I spend in Kirkwall, the stranger my life becomes. My best friends are a dwarf who is obsessed with his crossbow and an abomination-mage with a serious attitude problem. Then, on top of that, my brother is moodier than Bethany ever was when she was on her monthly. Tonight, though, really took the cake. We met Fenris. And I think that's all I need to say about that. How do I manage to attract such strange people?"_

Varric chuckled and patted Bianca lovingly. Fenris was indeed a strange elf. But he couldn't blame him, not really; he was a former slave with a highly-valued commodity etched into his skin. He had been on the run for years by the time Aspasia met him. And for all his mage hatred, he followed Hawke like her Mabari.  _If I didn't know better, I'd say Fenris loved her._

* * *

_Why would smugglers leave their stolen lyrium here in the Alienage?_

Aspasia stood outside the door of the abandoned house, where Anso had indicated that smugglers were likely hiding the shipment of lyrium that he was due. Two sovereigns was a good reward for such a simple job, so Aspasia had agreed to it. She stood aside to let Varric work the lock. The door fell open at his touch; it was neither locked nor even fully latched. They exchanged a tense glance and the hairs on the back of Aspasia's neck stood up.  _Something's up._

As they walked cautiously into the house, the door slammed shut behind them.  _It's breezy tonight; probably just the wind._ Mercenaries sprung out of every conceivable nook and cranny, surrounding the four of them quickly. Anders cast a protection glyph as Aspasia used mind blast to knock down some of the enemies. Carver, greatsword in both hands, spun in a wide arc, felling three men at once. Varric had retreated to a far corner, backing himself into it, as he fired bolt after bolt, pinning many of the thugs, making them easy pickings for his companions.

After the last mercenary's body slumped lifelessly to the ground, Aspasia made her way to the rear of the house, where she found a large locked chest. Varric picked the lock and flipped the lid open, revealing… _nothing_. It was empty. At once, Aspasia knew that she had been misled.

"Get ready, boys. I have a feeling we're not going to have a  _friendly_  welcoming committee outside," she barked, downing a small vial of lyrium potion. Anders followed suit. Carver took a deep, cleansing breath. Varric finished retrieving bolts and placing the salvageable ones back in his quiver. A moment later, the three men nodded towards Aspasia. She whipped open the door. The alley was empty. The quartet breathed a collective sigh of relief as they sauntered out of the abandoned house. They only made it halfway down the stairs when more mercenaries appeared. This time they had mages with them. Whatever was going on—whatever this cargo  _really_  was—must have been of the utmost import to warrant so many fighters. Anders and Aspasia concentrated on nullifying the mages while Carver sliced his way through the throng of lightly armed men. Varric released a hail of arrows into the air, many of them finding their marks, incapacitating several of the thugs just long enough for Aspasia to summon a firestorm.

After a few minutes of intense fighting, only a few scattered men remained, their Captain among them. He growled something about Aspasia making a grave mistake before calling for his reinforcements. One man stumbled down the stairs towards the Alienage, heavily bleeding. He crumpled to the ground, dead, scarcely able to utter an apology before he choked on his own blood.

Aspasia watched the stairs curiously as a pair of bare feet emerged, then long, lithe legs in brown leather, and finally the full body of a very angry man appeared. He stopped at the bottom of the steps, standing beside the Captain, who bore a stunned expression that quickly changed to triumph.

"Your men are dead, and your trap has failed," the man growled, Aspasia taking notice of pointed ears shooting out from his mop of snow-white hair.  _An elf?_  "You'd better get out of here while you still can."

"You're going nowhere, slave," the Captain boomed as he placed a single hand on the elf's shoulder. The elf instantly glowed blue, the source seeming to be the intricate white scrolls that covered his visible skin.

"I am NOT a slave!" He shouted as he drew one hand back, forming it into a conical shape before thrusting it into the Captain's chest. His forearm muscles flexed as hand met heart, taking hold of it and yanking it out. The elf crushed the still-beating organ in front of the horrified eyes of the Captain, who fell dead on the spot, blood spurting from the gaping hole in his chest.

The elf dropped the Captain's heart in disgust, wiping his bloodied hand on the dead man's tunic before straightening up and facing Aspasia. "I apologize. When I asked Anso to provide a decoy, I had no idea that Danarius' men would be so…numerous."

Fenris was his name, he said. The markings on his skin were no simple tattoo, but pure lyrium etched into his skin. It was these markings that gave him the ability to thrust his fist into the Tevinter Captain's chest, and what made him so valuable to his former master. The former slave asked for one further favor—to storm his former master's Hightown mansion, immediately—to which Aspasia readily agreed.

Anders excused himself after Fenris' extended rant against mages, so it was just Aspasia, Varric, Carver, and the elf. They went to Danarius' mansion without delay, but he wasn't there. The place had obviously sat empty for years. Fenris grew visibly frustrated as he stormed out of the house. Aspasia followed him, hoping that she might gain his trust. He certainly was skilled with his blade, and Aspasia was growing more concerned about Mother being left home alone so often. She had been planning for a few weeks now to start leaving Carver behind to protect her. There was no way Mother would allow Carver to come with her on the expedition. If she could recruit Fenris…it would fill her need for a new warrior. The only other option was to ask Aveline, and Aspasia figured separating her from her City Guard duties for weeks was not possible.

"It never ends," he muttered bitterly as she approached him from behind. Fenris hadn't gone far; in fact, he stood only feet from the door, leaning against a tree with his arms folded. "I escaped a land of dark magic, only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my very soul. And now I find myself in the company of yet another mage. I saw you casting spells in there; I should have realized sooner what you really are. Tell me; what manner of mage are you? What is it that you seek?" He demanded coldly, refusing to look at Aspasia.

"I don't know…what is it that  _you_  think I seek?" Aspasia retorted. The accusatory tone of his questioning had instantly raised her hackles; she had to handle this one carefully, lest he put that fist of his through  _her_  chest next.

"You are skilled, I know that much," Fenris grumbled as Carver joined them. The younger Hawke could sense the tension, and his protective instinct kicked in.

"If you have a problem with my sister, then you have a problem with me," Carver growled, recalling the elf's earlier anti-mage rant, as he reached for his sword.

Fenris turned his head coolly to face Carver, not taking the bait of his threat. "I would imagine I appear ungrateful, when it is not so." He exhaled heavily. He reached into his belt pouch, pulling out a small bag of coin. "Here you go, just as Anso and I promised. If you should ever find yourself in need of my assistance, I will gladly render it." Fenris approached the door to the empty mansion, pausing as Aspasia spoke.

"You would help me—a mage? After your rant earlier?" Aspasia was incredulous.

"It is clear that you are not like Danarius. Whether you prove to continue to be remains to be seen." Fenris turned back towards Aspasia, expecting that she might have further questions.

"Who is Danarius and why is he after you?" Aspasia asked gently. She figured the answer would be difficult to hear, and it was. Fenris told her about just a tiny portion of the abuses he suffered under the cruel Tevinter magister, the lyrium brands covering his body being virtually the least of them.

"He wishes the lyrium returned, even if he has to rip the flesh from my bones to do it," Fenris snarled, shivering at the thought. His emerald green eyes turned dark with fury. He really was quite exquisite, once Aspasia took a moment to fully appreciate his form. Most warriors were stout, heavily muscled. Fenris was lithe, agile, flexible. His olive skin provided the perfect contrast to the white lyrium, which had been expertly placed to trace the delicate lines of his body. Stark white hair opposed his perfectly shaped black eyebrows. Aspasia wondered if his hair had been black before he received his brands.  _And those eyes…I keep surrounding myself with crazy men that are devastatingly handsome. Even Varric._

"Well, that would be a waste of a perfectly handsome elf," Aspasia purred. Fenris turned to look at her, his eyes large. A slight blush crept across his cheeks as he cleared his throat and laughed nervously. "Come to think of it, Fenris, there are a few things I can think of that you can… _assist_  me with." The blush intensified and travelled down his throat. Carver rolled his eyes and walked away. Varric stuck around, but kept his distance. He wanted to be able to step in should the edgy elf flip a switch or something.

_Flirting? With me? What could she possibly see in me? I cannot deny that there is something about this woman… I should see where this leads; she's helped me immensely so far, and doesn't know me any better._

"That is…quite tempting, Hawke. You are a beautiful woman. I'm going to stick around the mansion to see if Danarius makes an appearance. You are welcome to keep me company if you'd like." A sly smile spread across Fenris' face as pink crept along her own cheeks. That he caused her to blush pleased Fenris immensely, in ways he couldn't describe. Aspasia nodded and they headed back inside. Varric noticed that the pair seemed to be getting along  _just fine_  without him and headed to his tavern.

Fenris and Aspasia snooped their way through the mansion, coming across plenty of junk but finding a few hidden gems. There was a really nice pair of boots that went well with Aspasia's robe and a pair of gloves for Carver. In the cellar, dozens of bottles of wine were nestled in the racks, thick dust indicating that they had sat there, aging, for years. Fenris grabbed one of the bottles, smearing away the dust and glaring at the label.  _This crest is unmistakeable…_

"Aggregio Pavali," Fenris growled. "Danarius used to make me pour this for his guests. My appearance intimidated them." He gripped the cork in his teeth and yanked the bottle away from him, causing it to open with a pop. He wafted the open end under his nose, inhaling the undoubtedly familiar aroma. He had poured hundreds of bottles of this wine over the years and learned much about its subtle nuances as a result.

"This is a particularly good year." He tipped the bottle to his mouth, taking a long drink, before offering it to Aspasia. She took the bottle gingerly, taking a tiny sip at first, letting the rich, dry red swirl across her tongue. After that first tentative taste, she took another, larger swig. Fenris watched her as she licked a stray droplet of wine from her lower lip, his green eyes dark. He grabbed a couple more bottles and led the way back upstairs.

Several hours later, the fire was slowly reducing itself to embers but neither Fenris nor Aspasia cared. They were good and drunk now, having gone through the three initial bottles of wine while regaling each other with tales of their tragic pasts.

Aspasia was staring openly at Fenris' lyrium brands. "You can ghost your way around the battlefield pretty well, Fenris. You offered your assistance. I believe I can use it. I have some mercenaries to… _eliminate_."

"Why do I get the feeling that the phrase  _some mercenaries_  means we'll be traipsing all over the Free Marches looking for these guys?" Fenris asked, a smirk crossing his face. "Why do I get the feeling that no mission is ever simple for you?"

"Tonight was pretty typical, actually, so your observation skills are  _quite_  astute," Aspasia chuckled, shaking her head.

"Do you mind if I ask why we are taking out  _some mercenaries_?"

"Well, there is a Chantry Brother, Sebastian Vael, whose family was murdered by the Flint Company Mercenaries," Aspasia started.

"They are…a formidable group, Hawke," Fenris interjected.

Aspasia waved away the elf's concern. "I spent my first year here indentured to the Red Iron. I'm not scared of knocking off a rival group."

"Point taken. Indentured?"  _Was she a slave like me?_

Aspasia shrugged. "My uncle sold us into mercenary service to pay for the bribe it took to get us into the city. The contract was for one year."

 _So…not a slave. Family issues. Big heart. Mage. What a combination, Fenris._ "Hmm. You are an intriguing woman, Hawke. I believe I shall enjoy working by your side."

"So you'll help me?" Aspasia smiled.

Fenris nodded, bringing his green eyes to meet Aspasia's. "I shall."

"Thank you, Fenris. I should really get going before my Mother sends Carver to bring me home," Aspasia said, finally feeling like she was sober enough to venture out on her own, and headed towards her uncle's house. The sun started to peek over the horizon just as she flopped onto her bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More game dialogue. Sorry! It got to be a bit of a nasty habit when I was writing these companion introductory entries. Since this is a straight repost from FF.net, I haven't gone back and edited these at all.


	18. Striking Flint

_"Finally finished taking out the last of those damned Flint Company agents. In speaking with Brother…Prince…Sebastian Vael at the Chantry, I find that he is as intriguing as he is drop-dead gorgeous. And I feel so very, very sorry for his situation."_

Varric recalled that it was no easy task, eliminating those pockets of Flint Company thugs. But it had been worth it; Sebastian Vael had proven himself to be a loyal friend and a damn good companion for Hawke, even if he was a bit on the preachy side.

* * *

Aspasia looted the last of the dead Flint Company agents. On the neck of the very last thug, she found a golden heart shaped locket on a thin gold chain.  _What an odd thing for a mercenary to wear._ Looking at it closer, she saw a small clump of silver hair tangled in the clasp. Aspasia looked back down at the female thug.  _Black hair._ She was almost afraid to look any closer at it and was folding her hand around the necklace when Fenris muttered something under his breath.

"What was that, Fenris?"

"I…I was saying that the crest on that locket looks familiar."

Aspasia handed the necklace to Fenris. He turned it over in his hands. "Yes, I know this crest. It's the Starkhaven crest. The Vael family sigil, actually. The  _lion rampant_ , that's distinctly theirs. Makes sense, for one of these thugs to have something like this, you know."

"Here, I'll give it to Prince Vael when we tell him the good news. That silver hair…this probably belonged to his mother or grandmother…" Aspasia trailed off. She didn't feel the least bit sorry for killing the mercenaries. She felt good.  _Righteous_. She pulled off the tangled wad of hair and wiped off the blood with a clean edge of her sleeve before putting the locket in her belt pouch.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Aspasia walked into the Chantry, finding Sebastian in front of the large statue of Andraste, deep in prayer. "So, will anyone smite me if I tell you I killed the men who wronged your family?"

Sebastian scrambled to his feet. "Excuse me, who are—? My post to the Chanters' Board? Did Her Grace let that stay? I thought for sure no one even read... But you say you've killed them?" Sebastian looked upward, raising his hands in praise as he grinned. "You have my eternal gratitude, serah! It is comforting to think my parents might now rest easily in their graves." He looked straight into Aspasia's eyes, the icy blue orbs literally open windows to his soul. "Now, what is your name? I shall ask the Maker to watch over you during my evening prayers."

"My name is Hawke. I'm glad I could help. I hope  _you_  sleep a bit easier as well. I must admit…I asked the Grand Cleric about you after I picked up your request on the Chanters' Board. Her Grace told me more about your position here at the Chantry, but I'd like to know a bit more about you as a  _person_. She said you're a prince?" Aspasia blushed at the intensity of his gaze and smiled sweetly.  _Maker's breath, why did she have to blush?_

"Yes. I am Sebastian Vael, prince of Starkhaven," he replied, the words slow and thick with brogue.  _What a lovely voice._

"Starkhaven? Isn't that where the Circle Tower just burned down? Please forgive me, I'm originally from Ferelden and just moved here a bit over a year ago. I'm not terribly familiar with all of the principalities that make up the Free Marches. One of my friends said it's along the Minanter, but that's all I know."

Sebastian looked surprised.  _She's done far better than the majority of the refugees here. Intriguing._ "Ferelden? So you fled the Blight, then. I spent several years there, in Denerim. Lovely country. But yes, Starkhaven is on the Minanter, up in the highlands. And indeed, we did just lose our Circle Tower. I believe that was part of the same strike against my family. In one instant, we lost our mages, our templars—everyone my parents used to call on for protection."

Aspasia pursed her lips, tilting her head. "Do you know who sent these mercenaries? Why your family was killed?"

Sebastian shrugged and shook his head. "My family has ruled Starkhaven for six generations. We have enemies, but none who would identify themselves openly. A cousin of mine is claiming rulership now, but he is... a bit simple. He can be no more than a pawn in this plot."

"Surely you have a guess as to who was behind it…"

Sebastian threw up his hands, exasperated. "See, that's the puzzling thing. My parents were always...  _prudent_... in how they handled our nobles. They did not allow rivalries or resentments to flourish. The attack must have come from outside. Kirkwall is our largest trading partner. I came back here to find support for my claim and perhaps for a clue as to who is behind this foul deed."

Aspasia lowered her voice. "Do you maybe suspect someone in Kirkwall?"

Sebastian matched her change in tone. "I cannot rule that out, but alas…I have no leads at this time. I am at an impasse."

Aspasia paused. She looked down, away, and dug into her belt pouch, producing the golden locket she found. "I…I found this on one of the mercenaries. My companion said that the crest is Starkhaven's?"

Tears welled in Sebastian's eyes as his fingers ghosted over the  _lion rampant_. "Aye…that…that is… _was_ …my grandmother Meghan's locket." His voice shook. Gingerly, he opened the locket and the tears spilled down his cheeks as he smiled. "Still there…" he trailed off.

"I'm sorry, Prince Vael. I didn't mean…"

"Sebastian.  _Please_. Call me Sebastian. And you've done no harm, serah. It's just…well…" he handed the now-open locket to Aspasia. Inside was a miniature painting of a young, teenage boy with bronze hair and blue eyes and…it was  _him_.  _No wonder he started crying. Poor thing._

Aspasia placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad that I was able to get this back for you, and I'm glad that I was able to help you. You seem…if you need anyone to talk to, Sebastian…I've got two perfectly willing ears. I've lost a lot in recent times as well. I know I probably can't hold a candle to Andraste, but know that if you need help ever again, I'll be here."

Sebastian composed himself, wiping his eyes and sniffling hard. "Thank you, ser— _Hawke_. Perhaps I will take you up on that sometime. But if you'll please excuse me, I have a meeting with the Viscount about getting aid for a fellow city-state."

Aspasia smiled shyly. "Of course, Sebastian. Good luck to you." Sebastian walked away, leaving Aspasia to watch him go. She shook her head as she thought about the difficult task that lay before a man who was the last of his line.  _He's got a long row to hoe, Maker, but he's got the heart to do it. A damned good heart._


	19. Return Receipt Requested

_"Maker's Breath, if I never see Flemeth again it'll be too soon. But a deal is a deal, so I went up to Sundermount with Varric, Fenris, and Anders to take that amulet of hers to Marethari. Did I mention that I had to go into the heart of a Dalish clan? I'm damned lucky I wasn't killed on the spot."_

Varric shuddered as he recalled meeting Flemeth. She wasn't terribly mean or outwardly threatening, but even he—a dwarf—could feel the magical power within her. And then there was the whole demand that Hawke take Merrill away from the camp…at least the elf's intentions were always good. Methods? A bit sketchy.

* * *

_Sweet. Completely bonkers, but very sweet._ Aspasia looked at Merrill's huge green eyes as they danced nervously. She said she had never really been around humans and was very nervous as a result.  _I cannot fathom why she is to come with us. What has she done?_

The trip up to the altar wasn't without incident, but nothing the group couldn't handle. Merrill performed the ritual as Marethari had requested, but what happened next took everybody by surprise.

Flemeth appeared, in high dragon form.

"Holy shit," Varric muttered under his breath.

"Indeed," Fenris replied.

"Guys, hush," Aspasia warned.

"Ho ho! Ahh…and here we are!" Flemeth boomed as she shook off the last of the shapeshifting spell's effects. Merrill gasped and dropped into a low curtsy.

"No need for that, child," Flemeth said, motioning for Merrill to rise. "Do you even know who I am?"

"Asha'Bellanar," Merrill whispered, as though saying the name would cause her to be struck dead on the spot.

"That too. Also Flemeth, Witch of the Wilds, old hag who talks too much…the usual." She shrugged, causing the raven feathers on her pauldrons to twitch as her yellow eyes danced mischieviously.

"I'm confused," Aspasia said. "How did you—were you in the amulet the whole time?"

Flemeth gave a sharp nod. "Just a piece. A small piece, but it was all I needed. It was protection against Morrigan…If I know my daughter, the unthinkable has already occurred. You knew her as well…you can only  _begin_ to guess at the myriad of reasons I have for transporting myself around Thedas in shards and pieces."

Aspasia smiled and shook her head. "I do, and I don't blame you. Though it sounds like she is confused whether she is your daughter or your enemy?"

Flemeth sighed. "I believe she is just as confused, child." She leveled a hard gaze at Aspasia. "Alas, it is time for me to move on. A word of advice?"

"What can it hurt? You've been helpful thus far," Aspasia muttered.

Flemeth folded her arms, then placed a finger on her chin thoughtfully. "We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment...and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly."

 _What in the Void is she talking about?_ "Uh…thanks? What am I supposed to do with that tidbit?"

"Do as I do. Become a dragon!"

"Well, Morrigan taught me the basics of shapeshifting…perhaps you could teach me how to become one?"

"Ho ho!" Flemeth threw her head back and laughed, then abruptly grew serious. "No…you could never become a dragon. What she taught you will serve you well enough." She shifted into dragon form.

"But she only taught…" Before Aspasia could finish her sentence, Flemeth flew away.

Aspasia looked at her companions, who were all looking as dumbstruck as she had felt the first time she met Flemeth. "What are you staring at? We should get back down the mountain before it gets dark." She stalked off, feeling slightly humiliated at Flemeth's trickery.

Halfway down the mountain, Anders caught up to Aspasia. "How…what  _is_  she, Hawke?"

Aspasia kept walking, eyes forward. "As she said…she is the Witch of the Wilds," she said simply.

"And how did you come to make such a deal with her?" Anders was angry.  _How dare she be so upset about Justice when she consorts with…whatever Flemeth is?_

Aspasia slowed a bit, turning her head to Anders. "I…she helped us flee Ferelden. We were trapped. In return…I agreed to bring this amulet to Marethari. I didn't know what it contained, obviously. And she is right…I  _do_ know her daughter…Morrigan probably tried to kill her, or have her killed. I saved her life, I would imagine…just as she once saved mine."

"But what is she? She's no spirit or abomination, or even a demon."

"Now that…I do not know, Anders. I'm sorry."

"You are full of secrets, aren't you," he said, winking.  _There's that crooked smile again. He looks so much younger when he smiles like that._

"And I suspect you are as well," Aspasia retorted as they approached Marethari. She swore she felt the ghost of a hand at her lower back, but shrugged it off.  _Surely he wouldn't dare to touch me in front of the others._

_I want to discover all of your secrets, Hawke…just you and me…_

"Did you say something, Anders?"

"Huh? I didn't say anything," he blurted, heart pounding.  _Can she read my mind or did I actually say something aloud?_

"It was me, Hawke. I said we deserve to enjoy a pint after we get back to town," Varric piped up.

"Oh. That's a great idea, but I have to talk to Aveline as soon as we get back. Perhaps I'll join you later?"

"Sounds like a plan, Hawke."

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Aspasia tapped on the door to Aveline's office before poking her head in. "Avie? Are you busy?"

Aveline looked up from her never-shrinking stack of paperwork. "Never too busy for you, Hawke. What's up?"

Aspasia pushed the door open further, entering sheepishly and closing the door behind her. "Well, the expedition leaves in the morning…and I wanted to offer you one more chance to come along."  _Please say yes?_

"Hawke, you know I can't. My duties here with the guard are too great. If I were still just a soldier, I would, but as Captain? Out of the question. I will be thinking of you and Carver all the time though, and I won't stop worrying until you get back." Aveline said, soft yet stern.

"Uh…about that…I'm not sure that I'm going to take Carver," Aspasia mumbled as she ran a hand through her blonde curls, tucking a wayward lock behind her ear. Her hair was chin length now.

"Oh. That's not going to fly, you know," Aveline cautioned, smirking.

Aspasia paced slowly in front of Aveline's desk. "I'm aware of that. But you know Gamlen…I can't trust him. I need you and Carver to watch out for Mother, keep her safe while I'm gone."

"Will do. So who are you taking?"

Aspasia paused, chewing on her thumbnail. "Well…Anders for sure…Varric is a lock…so Fenris, I guess."

"Not the whore?" Aveline chuckled.

A look of utter disgust crossed Aspasia's face. "Maker, no. I can't really count on her. She's…no. Just… _no_."

"Fenris ought to do well. That phasing thing he does is impressive…makes him  _fast_. You need speed against whatever darkspawn you encounter."

"That's what I was thinking as well. I've been working on a haste spell for the rest of us. Thanks, Avie. I owe you."

"We'll…work out something. I have something in the works." Aveline smiled mischeviously. "By the way, is Anders still… _flirting_  with you?"

"Yes. Not that I really mind. It's nice to be desired, that's for sure. Makes me feel like a woman."

"I…understand. But do you feel anything in return?"

"I…I'm not sure. I have been so focused on getting coin for this for so long now that I've not allowed myself much more than that."

Aveline put her hand on her chin, pondering. "You'll fall in love surrounded by taint. Not quite Cinderella…but it could be a nice fairy tale."

"Shut up, Avie!"

"I kid, I kid. Seriously though…just…be careful. Bartrand's a sonuvabitch. And I get a weird feeling around Anders…that's why I asked about the flirting. Maybe it's just too much magic. Perhaps it's Justice. I dunno. Just be  _careful_  with him," Aveline implored.

"I will. I'm gonna head over to the Chantry and get in one more confession before I go."

Aveline winked and smirked. "You just want to stare at Sebastian Vael."

Aspasia huffed. "He won't be there. He said last week that he'd be in Tantervale by now, trying to get support for his claim."

Aveline rose from her chair and crossed over to Aspasia, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Awww. That's too bad. But yes, go get blessed. I'll see you in the morning. I may not be able to go with, but I can certainly see you off. And if you do leave Carver, I think I'm about the only one who will be able to calm him."

"True. Thanks again, Aveline. I'll miss you." Aspasia wrapped her friend in a strong hug.

Aveline patted Aspasia's back firmly. "Just come home safe, Hawke."

"Will do."

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Aspasia slipped into the Chantry. The evening service concluded about an hour prior, so the huge building was practically empty, save for scattered Brothers and Sisters milling about. She made her way to the confessional booths and was just about to enter when a voice stopped her.

"Hawke?" The brogue was unmistakeable.

"Sebastian!" Aspasia turned around slowly. "What are you still doing here? I thought you said you'd be in Tantervale by now."

Sebastian ran a hand through his auburn hair, looking at the floor. "I…I got delayed. I'll be leaving tomorrow morning."  _Maker forgive that tiny white lie._

"Well…it just so happens that I'm leaving for the Deep Roads tomorrow. What a coincidence." Aspasia smiled warmly.

_Yes. Coincidence. I didn't deliberately delay my trip to Tantervale at all…I have to see you off, to offer a blessing before you go into this most dangerous journey. I owe you that much, at least._

"That's right…I heard about that. So you managed to pull it off, saving up all that coin. That's very impressive." Sebastian gave Aspasia a lopsided grin.  _Quite amazing, actually._

"Thank you, Sebastian," Aspasia mumbled, the tips of her ears turning slightly pink.

"Well, since I won't be leaving until you do—as it sounds—why don't I come to see your expedition off? I could give a benediction or lead a prayer…"

"I'd like that. That's very kind of you to offer, Sebastian."

"Oh, it'd be my pleasure. It's the least I can do for the person who brought those Flint Company bastards to justice…and managed to bring me something so precious in the process. You could have pocketed that and sold it and I'd have been none the wiser. I still…" Sebastian trailed off, looking down at the smooth stone floor again, overwhelmed by emotion.

"Sebastian…I could  _never_  have done that." Aspasia saw his shuddering sigh and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey…remember when I said you could always talk to me? Why don't we go do that? We both have a big task before us…let's take a moment, shall we?"

Sebastian looked up and cocked his head to the side as he considered the offer. He grinned. "Yes. Let's go to the garden. It's lovely at sunset." He offered his arm to Aspasia, who took it hesitantly. He guided her to a stone bench set in front of a small fountain, the bubbling water a slight but soothing sound. The sunset, with its oranges and purples and pinks and blues all smudged together was bathing the garden's foliage in soft warm light. The stained glass windows of the small side chapel within the Chantry lit up as candles were being lit within the building.

Aspasia looked into Sebastian's eyes. It didn't seem possible, but the warmth of the light made them seem even more blue than normal. But, as always, they were just so… _open_  to her. "So…I know I barely know you, Sebastian…but I can  _feel_  the hurt in you. I've had a lot of loss in the past few years too, and I think if you talk about your family it will help. When I talk about my father and sister, it helps me. I recall the good things. It keeps them alive in my heart."

Aspasia had barely finished speaking when Sebastian let loose. "You know, the one I miss the most…passed before I even went to the Chantry. My grandfather taught me everything I know…trained me with my bow, loved me even when my father…" Sebastian choked up. "Even when my father didn't."  _Oh sweet Andraste…I…she's right. This feels so good to get off my chest._

"Your father didn't love you?" Aspasia was wide-eyed, incredulous.

"I'm—I  _was_ —the third son. My parents were very traditional. They had the heir, Corbinian, the spare, Gavin, and I was…left in the cold. I was supposed to be a  _girl_ , apparently. So even from the start I was a disappointment," Sebastian spat, desperate to not sound bitter.

"Now Sebastian…I'm sure you were anything but a disappointment…" Aspasia chuckled.

"Oh, but I was…except to my grandfather, who thankfully never saw the worst of me." Sebastian paused, looking at his hands, which were folded in his lap. "Would you like to know how I came to be in the Chantry?" He didn't look up.

Aspasia peaked an eyebrow. "Well…I was rather curious how a Prince could also be a Brother, so…yes."

Sebastian looked Aspasia dead in the eyes. "I was put in the Chantry as punishment."

Aspasia's mouth fell open slightly as she tilted her head. "What did you do?"

The Prince shook his head slowly, a wry smirk on his lips. "Oh, it wasn't just one thing. It was many,  _many_  things. I was terrible. I was a worthless rake, drinking, whoring, gambling, fighting…being put here was the best thing that could've happened, honestly. I'd probably be dead by now." He tore his eyes away from Aspasia's, again inspecting his folded, broad hands.

Aspasia's mouth hung open even further now. She recovered enough to ask, "But you're so young still…how old…?"

"Too young, Hawke. I was _far_ too young. I managed to get myself given to the Chantry at seventeen…and it had taken a few years to do it."

Aspasia shook her head lightly, a smirk on her lips. "You know, I'm nearly twenty-one and I'm still a virgin?"

Sebastian chuckled and blushed. "Hang on to that for as long as you can, trust me. I wish for all of Thedas that I had stayed innocent for longer than I did," he muttered. "Anyway. It's just so hard to think of them…all gone. I hadn't seen my father since I left for the Chantry. Corbinian and Gavin came to visit me in Val Royeaux once. They were on an errand for my father and decided to swing by, despite his orders not to. My sisters…they were too young to really understand that I was never coming back to Starkhaven. My mother and grandmother made the trip to Denerim a couple of times, but Father…put an end to that. One of the last memories I have of my grandmother is seeing her locket around her neck and wondering if my picture was still inside, or if she had replaced it with a portrait of Corbinian's baby boy." A fat tear splashed onto Sebastian's knee. "I never even got to meet him…I heard he was a beautiful babe, every bit a Vael…" Sebastian's voice grew thicker as he spoke of the last times he saw his family members, finally drifting off on to a tangent about archery as Aspasia just sat and listened.  _So sad…if they could only see how wonderful he turned out to be…I have a really, really strong urge to hug Carver right now?_

Aspasia wanted to hug Sebastian, or hold his hand, or something to show her support, but wasn't sure he'd let her.  _Never hurts to ask?_ "Sebastian?"

The Prince stopped babbling at the surprising softness of Hawke's voice. "Yes? Oh wait…you probably don't care about fletching arrows…"

"It's not that…I was just wondering…can I give you a hug? You seem like you could use one.  _I_  could use one."

Sebastian hesitated slightly.  _What's the harm in such a sweet gesture?_ "Of course. There's nothing in my vows that says I cannot enjoy a simple gesture such as that."

Aspasia wrapped her arms around Sebastian's broad shoulders and leaned in for a quick hug.  _Maker, preserve me, but this feels so nice..._ She didn't expect Sebastian to return the hug so completely as he wrapped her up in his arms, pressing her to him and cradling the back of her head, twirling his fingers into her curls as she nuzzled into his shoulder.  _Her hair is as soft as the finest Orlesian silk…_ She didn't feel him inhale the scent of her hair deeply, but she did hear his contented sigh.  _Oh, she smells so good…_ Then, as if reality broke back through to him, Sebastian stiffened and abruptly pulled away.  _But this…pleasure…is an abuse of her kindness. This is wrong._

"I'm sorry, Hawke…that was… _inappropriate_ ," he whispered, unable to meet her eyes.

"What was inappropriate about that? We both needed a hug. And you," Aspasia replied, gently poking his chest with her index finger, "are a giver of fantastic hugs!"

Sebastian rose awkwardly. "I…I shouldn't have let myself hold you so close. Thank you, though, I do believe you were right. Talking about my family has helped immensely. I…need to go pray. A  _lot_. I will see you tomorrow morning. From where are you leaving? Hightown?"

Aspasia, confused, nodded numbly as she chewed her lower lip and stared at the dirt. Sebastian opened his mouth as though to speak but stopped, instead turning to return to the interior of the massive temple. She watched him go, and noted that he hesitated before pushing the rear door of the Chantry open.  _Maker…what was that all about?_ After a few confused moments, Aspasia exited through the rear gate of the garden and made her way to Lowtown—to the Hanged Man—to have that drink that Varric tempted her with earlier.


	20. Carver's Choice

_"Well today's the day. We leave for the Deep Roads. It took long enough to save up the 50 sovereigns, but we finally did it. I'm glad to be getting out of town for a while; the more I hang out with Anders, the more I get the dreadful feeling that Templars are going to raid Gamlen's hovel in the middle of the night. But it's worth it. For the first time since Lothering, I feel kind of alive. Flirting with him, and having him return the affection, has made everything a bit easier to bear. I'm still torn about taking Carver, though."_

Varric shook his head. "And that's where it all began to go to the sodding Void."

* * *

Aspasia Hawke counted out the fifty sovereigns for Bartrand one last time, gathering them into a leather drawstring pouch, while her younger brother Carver double-checked his pack, making sure he had a whetstone and several extra pairs of boot laces. Walking for a long time with broken laces was no fun at all.  _Rather tough on the ankles._  Plus, the long lengths of thin leather cording were useful in so many other ways and Maker only knew what they'd find down there in the Deep Roads.

"Where's Mother?" Aspasia quizzed aloud as she put her pack by the door, speaking to neither Gamlen nor Carver in particular.

"Ahh…Leandra said she was going down to the Lowtown Bazaar to get something she thought you might need. She is going to meet you in Hightown, so don't you dare leave before she gets there, girl," Gamlen grumbled. He couldn't wait to get his niece and nephew out of the house so he could start pressing Leandra to pay rent again.  _I need twenty more silvers to buy in on that Wicked Grace tournament..._  If nothing else, he'd just rummage through Aspasia's various foot lockers, chests, and bags of crap she picked up on her odd jobs and sell some of it.  _She probably won't make it back, so what does it really matter? This tournament's my ticket out of this dump!_

"Well…we need to get going, Gamlen. Bartrand wants to head out of Kirkwall by noon. We'll wait as long as we can for her in Hightown though. Ready, Carver?"  _Maker, I hope this is the right choice…you know I barely slept agonizing over whether or not to take my brother._

"Yep," the younger Hawke replied, slinging his pack over one shoulder, weaving his other arm through the other loop and shifting its weight until it was comfortable. He smiled at his sister. Today they would set out to make enough money to get back the Amell Estate for their mother. He walked over to Gamlen, patting him on the shoulder firmly as he mumbled a goodbye. Their thieving uncle didn't really deserve anything more loving than that. _Jealous prig wasted all of Mother's rightful inheritance and lost the Amell estate. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't be putting our arses on the line like this. He's lucky I'm not staying behind. I might just kill him without Sis around…_

There was one good thing about living with Gamlen Amell, though. Carver had noticed, through watching the bitter man constantly nitpick their Mother, that he was the result of decades of petty jealousy. It had reminded him of how he often felt about his older sister Aspasia. He didn't want to end up like Mother and Gamlen, and he knew Aspasia didn't either, so he was making an effort to be more amenable.  _Blood's blood, and life's too short to be petty like that. Besides, Father would have my hide if I shirked my duty to protect Aspasia, especially since I already let Bethany die._  The change in her brother's attitude didn't go unnoticed, and Aspasia didn't really care what had brought it about, just as long as he didn't revert back to his petty, immature ways.

The Hawkes exited Gamlen's Lowtown hovel and made their way to Hightown, where they were to meet up with Bartrand, Varric, and Anders. When they arrived, they were pleased to see that many of their other friends had arrived to see them off. At the same time, however, it underscored the very real possibility that they might not return.

Carver was surprised to see Fenris there. Since he had volunteered his services several months ago, Aspasia had rarely called upon his talents. He was standoffish, so it wasn't like the elf had become best friends with Aspasia overnight or anything. It was just…odd. So too was the presence of Sebastian Vael.  _Isn't he supposed to be in Tantervale?_   _He and Sis seem to be friends, though, so maybe she asked him really nicely to come by and bless the expedition before he leaves._

Carver stood by his sister as she handed over the sizeable leather pouch of coin to the elder Tethras brother, his well-practiced hand accurately gauging the weight of it to be equivalent to the fifty sovereigns he had requested.

"Didn't think you'd manage to get it done, Hawke. I'm impressed," Bartrand snipped. He turned to Varric. "Little brother, I must apologize for doubting your judgement. I underestimated you and I underestimated our mage, here."

"Apology accepted, Bartrand," Varric replied smugly.

"Now, let's review the terms of how we're going to split our profits, Bartrand," Aspasia started. She had put that hard mask on that let most know that she wasn't a woman to toy with.  _Just like Father did with merchants._

"Like Varric said, Hawke. Split the treasure stash 50/50, and 75/25 on the lyrium trade profits. 75 to  _us_ , if that was in any way unclear," Bartrand barked. He folded his arms across his broad chest defensively.  _Varric's a good judge of character, but I still only trust these humans about as far as I can throw 'em._ Without them, he did realize that they stood no chance against any rogue pockets of darkspawn. A necessary evil, in his opinion.

"Sounds right. Carver?" Aspasia looked to her younger brother, who had also adopted a defensive stance, looking at Bartrand through narrowed steel blue eyes.

"Yep. That's the deal I remember making, all right. Let's shake on it, shall we?" Carver extended his hand towards Bartrand, who took it begrudgingly. The two Tethrases and two Hawkes shook to their agreement and turned around to start saying goodbyes to the loved ones who had gathered.

Aspasia approached Sebastian, who blushed slightly and looked down as she drew near. "Sebastian…"

"Hawke. I owe you an explanation," Sebastian mumbled.

"No need," she said, waving away his offer with a flippant hand.

Her wave was met with a hard glare. "Yes. I do. I just got carried away last night…it'd been so long since anyone offered such kindness to me, let alone something so intimate as a hug. I…I briefly reverted to that old me, I  _think_. I felt as though I was abusing your generosity. So, while I thank you from the depths of my heart for being so sweet, I must say that I cannot accept a gesture like that from you again. It tested my vows much more than I could have anticipated," he said quickly, as if the will to speak such words would leave him if he didn't force them out. "You should take it as a compliment."

Aspasia frowned, growing annoyed. "What? How could I take  _'don't touch me again'_  as a compliment?"

 _Well…this isn't going like I thought it would…_ "You are the first woman in a long, long time to test my vows like that, and the temptation isn't just from your fair looks, either. You are kind, despite…" Sebastian stopped himself before he blurted out something he'd regret.

Aspasia's eyes grew hard, flaring with anger. "Despite what? Being a mage? A former mercenary? A sometime-assassin?  _A sinner_?"

Sebastian let out his breath in a loud huff and blinked hard. He raked a hand through his hair, desperate to fix this somehow. "Look, Hawke…I know the things that you've done over the past year and a half haven't always been what you would normally do, but the situation hasn't been ideal. Some people…doing those things would spoil them, it would harden them. But that hasn't happened to  _you_. That's all I meant. Nothing more." He felt relief wash over him as Aspasia's hard stance softened. "Now…may I lead you and your brother in a prayer? I'm pretty sure I won't put my foot in my mouth doing that." He allowed himself to give a slight chuckle.

"Just  _pretty_ sure?" Aspasia teased lightly. "You're forgiven, Sebastian. Maker knows how hard it's been to not be totally jaded by everything. Thank you for seeing past the things I've been forced to do."

Anders watched Aspasia speak to Sebastian. Although he couldn't hear what they were saying, the body language was clear; the Prince's slight blush, Aspasia's awkward stance, his animated speech, her bright smile…if he didn't know that the Prince was given to the Chantry, he would have made a bet that they were smitten.  _But he's a Brother, so he can't have her. She is, then, all for me. _The sense of victory over Sebastian's vows did little to stop the pang of jealousy that shot through Anders as he watched Sebastian lead her and Carver in prayer.  _She's an Andrastian? Maker's balls…_

Leandra approached from the far side of the square, trotting as fast as her older body would allow. "Wait!" The Hawke matriarch cried desperately. "Please, wait!" She reached her children, rather breathless. Leandra took both children in her arms, clingingly fiercely to them. After catching her breath, she released her daughter but still held fast to Carver. Her blue-grey eyes met Aspasia's accusingly.

"Aspasia…I know you want to take Carver, but I simply cannot let you." Leandra wailed.

"Mother. We  _need_  a someone skilled with a blade. I can't take on that many darkspawn by myself, neither can Anders. You would send me to my death?"

"And Bianca's a minx, for sure, but she can only fire so fast," Varric interrupted. "Isn't that right, my sweet little thing…" he reached around and caressed the handle of the highly polished crossbow.

"Yes, Mother," Carver interjected, "Aspasia's right. Plus, I shook hands on this deal. I have to go."

"Well, Carver," Bartrand broke in, "if you need to stay behind, I understand. Family is family. As long as one of you Hawkes come with I'll consider the deal still valid. We have to find a different warrior, though."

Fenris strode towards the group. "If you recall, Hawke, I owe you a debt. I'll offer my services if Carver is not going to join you."

"See? There you go, Aspasia. Perfect. Carver can stay here with me, where it's safe, and you'll have your blade." Leandra smiled brightly. She could keep her baby boy close.

"MOTHER. I'm going, whether you like it or not," Carver yelled. "This is my deal too!"

Aspasia paused.  _Carver's good, but Mother's right…what if we both die? The Amell/Hawke line would be dead in the water. Fenris is actually the better man with a blade, if I'm going to be honest with myself here. Oh Maker…Carver's never gonna forgive me…_

"Carver, stay here," Aspasia said softly.

"WHAT? You CAN'T be serious, Sister! I need to go…I  _NEED_  to! Don't you leave me behind here with nothing to do while you chase glory in the bloody Deep Roads! I'll  _never_  forgive you for it, Aspasia. NEVER!"

"Carver, calm down," Leandra chided, smug in her impending victory, smoothing a hand over Carver's back. He shrugged off his mother's gesture, seething.

"It's not like there's  _nothing_ to do here, Carver," Aspasia offered. "I've a whole list of requests that I didn't get to before today. They're relatively simple, but you know that Aveline, even Merrill will help you if you only ask." She ventured closer to the angry warrior, lowering her voice so that only he could hear. "Please, Brother…for  _Mother_.  _Think_  about it. We can't leave her here with Gamlen, who knows what he'll try to pull. He might sell her off into slavery if we're not here to protect her. I'm sorry…I know you want glory…but this is  _family_. I promise you, glory will come."

Carver looked away, shaking his head in disbelief as he folded his arms. "Fine. I'll stay." Leandra peppered him with kisses, grateful to not be left to her wicked brother's devices while her children put their lives in mortal danger. Aspasia looked at him with wet eyes. She nodded, smiling, before turning towards the waiting expedition crew.

"Family bullshit done, Hawke?" Bartrand barked. Aspasia nodded.

"To the Deep Roads, then!"

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Carver was walking back to Lowtown, wondering just how menial the tasks his sister had left for him really were.  _Feeding kittens at Anders' clinic, no doubt._

"PSST! Carver!"

The young warrior whipped his head to his left, to where the voice had called from. The alley was narrow and shadowy, but he could see that it was a single person that had called for him. Carver shrugged slightly and entered the passage.  _Opportunity knocks…or hisses loudly from a sketchy alley._

"Do I know you?" Carver furrowed his brows as the figure stepped into slightly better light.

The shadowy figure twitched nervously. "Name's Samson. Remember when you and your sister were asking me about Feynriel?"

Carver scratched at the emerging stubble on his chin. "Oh yeah…now I remember you. Former Templar, right?"  _Former Templar that got kicked out due to mage sympathy and lyrium addiction, if I recall…_

Samson groaned lightly. "That's me. Look…I know your sister went off to the Deep Roads with those dwarves just now. The timing couldn't have been better." The former templar looked around furtively, making sure there were no prying eyes or ears.

"And how's that?" Carver asked suspiciously, yet his heart leapt up into his throat.

"The Templars have been planning to raid your uncle's house. They want your sis  _bad_ , Carver. They went this morning just after you guys had left…missed you by about ten minutes. So they're gonna ambush her as soon as she comes back from the Deep Roads," Samson continued, his eyes still darting around. Carver wondered if it was part of his lyrium addiction.

"What can I do about that now? I have no way of warning her," Carver grumbled as he threw his hands up in exasperation.

Samson leveled a gaze at Carver, his darting eyes still at last. "Join the Templars."

"What? You're  _daft_. Bloody lyrium's eaten your brains," Carver snipped.

"Hear me out, boy, if you've got any sense in that giant head of yours," Samson growled. "You join the Templars. They'll  _love_  that you turned on your sister. Make you look real loyal, it will. Besides, you have intimate knowledge of your sister's expedition…including where the entrance they're using is. Find out the particulars of the Templar plan, then find a way to distract them…Let them know that you're in on the intimate details of your sister's expedition. Once they're eating out of the palm of your hand, tell them what you know, but… _lie_  about it. Divert them to another ambush spot. It's the only way to keep her safe, Carver."

Carver considered Samson's words for a few moments.  _The Templars…I might as well sail back to Lothering and take a shit on Father's grave for even hearing this guy out._  But the more he thought about it, the more Samson made sense.  _Infiltrate the Templars. Learn who they plan to seize and when. I could actually do the mages more good as a Templar…_

"Okay. I'll do it. I'll join the Templars."

END ACT I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of chapters will be of the non-entry variety; interludes that explain some things that happen while Hawke is off in the Deep Roads.


	21. Interlude: Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian left Kirkwall when Aspasia did, eager to round up support for his claim. One of his potential allies happens to be an old friend--King Alistair. This is the updated version.

**_While the Hawke is away, the mice will play..._ **

**_  
_ **

A gentleman of Alistair's Privy Chamber stepped into the study and cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, Prince Vael of Starkhaven is here."

Alistair looked up from the papers on his desk and grinned. "Splendid! Would you please show him in? I'd rather meet with him here in private."

The young man turned and nodded to the King's Guard who, in turn, led Sebastian into the King of Ferelden's study. The Prince had foregone his white armor, opting instead to wear the finest clothes he could get his hands on in Kirkwall with his meager Chantry stipend.  _No kilt, but soon, with any luck._

Sebastian bowed deeply. "Your Highness, may I-"

Alistair shot out of his chair, rushing to the Prince and throwing his arms around him. "Sebastian. Drop the stuffy titles…you're an old friend. Call me Alistair. If you don't, I may be forced to try and fire an arrow in your general direction."

Sebastian laughed, recalling the disaster that was his attempt to teach the King of Ferelden how to shoot a bow so very long ago. "Please,  _please_ …anything but that!" He snapped back to reality and cleared his throat. "Alistair, may I just take a moment and thank you for receiving me? I am humb-"

The King smiled as he dismissed the formality. "You're always welcome here, Sebastian. You will always receive my hospitality. Come, sit with me. Let us catch up." Alistair gestured towards a small sitting nook near the fire. He raised his hand, beckoning a servant to bring over some wine. Both men took sips, their motions oddly synchronized.  _Maker, what has it been…_

"Can you believe it's been three years already?" Sebastian blurted, finishing Alistair's thought. "You, whisked away by the fabled Grey Wardens and I…banished to Kirkwall. You kill the archdemon, become King, take a wife and I…rot in Kirkwall," Sebastian chuckled.

Alistair arched an eyebrow at him, a bemused smile briefly flitting across his face. "That's not all that happened to you and you know it, Sebastian. And I know I said as much in my reply to you, but I am so very sorry about your family. To lose family is hard enough, but the circumstances… well…I understand the mercenaries who killed them have been brought to justice? There's got to be at least a small measure of comfort in that."

"Aye, they have. By a most motley band of Fereldan refugees, of all things."

Alistair looked at Sebastian skeptically. "No Coterie? No Crows? No Red Iron? Just  _refugees_? From  _Ferelden_?" The King beamed like a proud papa as Sebastian started to nod.

"Yep. And their leader is a beautiful woman…inside as well as out. She is as kind as she is fearless." Sebastian pondered the red liquid in his cup. "Even took the time to return my grandmother's locket to me. She could've sold it—Maker knows a refugee could always use the coin—but she didn't. I hope I can repay her adequately upon my return to Kirkwall."

"Now, now, Seb," Alistair mock-scolded, "As I recall, you finally took your vows of Brotherhood. Aren't you tempting fate a bit by consorting with pretty women?"

Sebastian gave him a wry smile. "Yes…if I hadn't forsworn them when I decided to offer the bounty for my family's killers."

Alistair perked up, a wicked glint flashing in his eyes. "Well if you're leaving the Chantry to retake Starkhaven…and you've forsworn your vows…what's stopping you from coming with me to the Gnawed Noble and for some good ol' fashioned drinking, gambling, and wenching?"

Sebastian smiled as he gently shook his head. "I…I literally have no interest in being that... _rake_  again. I've been in the Chantry since I was seventeen…it was a long, hard road to finally reach the point where Grand Cleric Elthina would allow me to become fully invested. It nearly killed me inside when I had to break my brand-new vows to pursue this. It was the hardest decision I've ever made. But still, there is a peace residing within my soul now, where only emptiness was before. The only other time I've felt so peaceful was when I was with Colleen…" he trailed off briefly. "The vows are the key to that inner peace now, I believe. Only they are between the Maker and myself—the Chantry no longer recognizes me as a Brother. So, while you are right—I  _am_  free to do what I wish—I do not wish to break the vows I made to the Maker. I could drink a bit, but I'm not doing much gambling and  _definitely_  no wenching!"

Alistair furrowed his brows. "So…let me get this right. You took your vows of chastity and poverty with the Chantry. You had to break them when you posted the bounty, which I get. I even understand the whole inner peace thing as being tied to those vows, and why you would hesitate to completely abandon them even though the Chantry thinks you have. I'm really proud of you, Sebastian…you've made incredible strides since we first met. But how in Andraste's name are you going to manage to rule without taking a wife and producing an heir? Wouldn't it be better to just help another member of your family—one that's more capable than Goran—take the crown?"  _Trust me, I know all about the pressures of producing an heir._

Sebastian sighed heavily. "I will eventually have to break that vow as well. But I swear to you, Alistair, I will not break it for a woman I do not love. If I never find love again, and never know the touch of a woman again as a result, then so be it. I'm leaving it up to the Maker. Hopefully he will see fit to grace me with a Princess as beautiful and capable as your Queen. I saw her in passing on my way here; she was walking with her retinue. You are a lucky man, Alistair."  _He definitely wound up with a wildcat in the sack, that's for sure. Perhaps she's a bit more emotionally stable these days?_

Alistair looked at his glass somberly. "Do not let yourself be fooled. I do not love Elissa, at least not in that  _way_. We did what we had to in order to stop the Blight, save Ferelden; we continue to… _do_  what we must to produce an heir, but she is not…no. I had that, though.  _Love_. Right after Ostagar. I let her slip through my fingers and now…" he trailed off, swallowing hard. "And now she's dead. I always wondered how hard it was for you, dealing with the loss of someone you cared so deeply for…I never really understood until…"

Sebastian gave Alistair a concerned look. "Do you want to talk about it or is it too hard?"

Alistair worried the golden hawk pendant at his neck as he looked into the fire. "She was  _so_  beautiful, Sebastian. All golden hair and blue eyes and freckles—oh, the freckles. When we kissed, it was like the sun burned brighter, the air smelled sweeter, the birds sang more…all that hokey stuff the poets like to say. But it's true, as corny as it sounds, it's true…when you're in love, everything in life is better, even during a Blight."

The King of Ferelden looked straight at Sebastian, a determined look on his face. "I only knew her for two weeks.  _Two weeks_ , Sebastian. I've never been happier than I was then. I swear to you, if she walked into this room right now, I would put Ellie aside and make her mine…damn the nobility. You know I never wanted  _this_ ," he spat, gesturing around him. "I wanted to marry her…live in the country…have a family…and just live a quiet existence where I didn't have to acknowledge this damned Theirin blood in my veins. I have no doubt in my mind that the Maker made us for each other. Why he saw fit to take her away…well, it's not my place to question the Maker, but I can't help but think that if I hadn't left her in Lothering, she'd be right by my side."

"Aye, the Maker has plans for us all. I'm sorry you lost her, she sounded lovely," Sebastian murmured softly, a wistful look on his face.  _I remember that…everything_ _was_ _better when I was in love._

Eyes again fixed on the flames, Alistair continued. "She was supposed to flee with her family to Highever, but I got a letter informing me that she was presumed to have been killed by darkspawn. They couldn't even… _identify_  her," Alistair said bitterly. "I can't even go visit her grave…leave her flowers…it  _hurts_. It hurts like nothing else, even today. But I wouldn't give back those two weeks for anything."

" _That's_  the feeling I want again, if the Maker will allow it, pain and all.  _That's_ what life is all about.  _That_  is what I would break my vows for," Sebastian murmured.

"If the Maker wills it, she will practically fall from the sky…or your companion's Mabari will harass her in the Chantry." Alistair smiled, recalling the memory of how he met Aspasia Hawke. "Now…let's talk business quickly, before Elissa comes. She would not be pleased if she knew I was making deals with anyone from the Free Marches."

"Why is that? The last thing I want to do is get you in trouble with the missus," Sebastian replied with a crooked smile.  _Heh. She IS just as crazy as ever, sounds like._

Alistair threw his hands up. "You know, I have no idea. I think she's just being snotty about it…how you all are principalities and city-states, not proper kingdoms. Or maybe she's obsessed with defeating Orlais."

"Orlais? You have problems with them, too?"

"Doesn't everybody? Anyway…my idea involves them. I'm more than willing to provide you with armed forces for your campaign, Sebastian. But I need something in return."

Sebastian peaked an eyebrow. "Let me guess…help with Orlais."

Alistair smiled. "Precisely! Plus perhaps we could have a long-standing trade deal in place."

"I will say that Starkhaven wool and whisky are second to none…but we can work on the details of that should my campaign be successful. I'd hate to get too far ahead of myself."

Alistair pursed his lips as he scratched his chin. "Good call. But just to kind of get things started…perhaps we could trade grain or cotton in exchange? Just something to consider." Sebastian nodded. "Good. I'll have my Seneschal draw up a formal treaty and we can sign it in the morning…get you back to Starkhaven post-haste."

Sebastian swirled the wine dregs in his cup as he spoke. "Well…I actually have to return to Kirkwall. That's where I'll have to be based out of while I secure the support of the nobility in Starkhaven. I can go in with all the men in the Free Marches but if the nobility no longer backs  _my_  Vael line, it'll all be for naught."

"So, when will you need my aid?"

"I will let you know. I suspect it may take some time. I need to find out who paid the Flint Company, for starters. I have to crush that enemy first, or else I may not live to try to take my throne." Sebastian shivered, recalling the close calls he had while in the Chantry before Hawke eliminated the mercenary group.  _They came so close to killing me—more than once—and I didn't even know they were a threat._

"Very well. Just let me know, and we'll be there." Alistair gave Sebastian an easy smile.

"Thanks, Alistair. You're a good man, you know?"

The King waved his hands. "Oh, you know it's just part of my big plot to take over all of Thedas and subject everyone to stinky cheeses and fancy parties all the time. Because I'm evil like that, you know."

Sebastian laughed, shaking his head. "Aye. We must have switched roles in Denerim, then. Now I'm the good, chaste lad and you're bent on world domination."

"Eh, a fair assessment. I didn't turn into a slut, though." Alistair snorted.

"Ouch!" Sebastian mockingly clutched his chest. "I would say you wound me but you only speak the truth. I'm glad you never followed me down that dark path, Alistair. It would have ruined you. I am sorry that I coerced you into sneaking out and going to the tavern with me all those times."

Alistair grinned. "I'm not! I had the time of my life! In retrospect, it helped get me ready for life outside of the Chantry. And trust me, once I was in the Wardens…my life got really crazy, really quick. Your, uh,  _tips_  helped me once I got to Lothering."

Sebastian gave a crooked smile as he looked into his empty glass. "Glad to help. So…you mentioned going down to the tavern earlier…still game? I could use a good measure of drinking and maybe a little gambling."

"You have no idea  _how_  game, friend. Let's go."

_**0-0-0-0-0** _

Alistair and Sebastian walked into the Gnawed Noble tavern and found a seat in the corner. Both men had decided to don their armor…just in case.  _Denerim tavern folk can get real violent, real quick,_  Alistair thought.

They hadn't been there long before one of the locals recognized Alistair and wandered over. "Your Highness, it's been a while," the man boomed. "And you've a friend, I see. Fellow royal, by the looks of that…wait…is that Andraste's  _face_  coverin' his cock?" Alistair grinned and nodded vigorously, and he and the man dissolved into giggles while Sebastian turned red. "Anyway, we's havin' quite the game of Wicked Grace o'er there if you'd like t' join. You too…er…"

"Sebastian," the Prince offered.

"Sebastian, eh? Yer accent sounds like you're pretty far from home, don'cha think? Anyway, as long as your coin is made of gold like ours, I'll be more than happy to take it from ye. C'mon, let's go."

As the hours went on and both Alistair and Sebastian got deeper and deeper into their cups, they cared less and less that Sebastian was supposed to be keeping to his vows—mostly—by not getting too carried away with gambling. Maybe it was the ale, maybe it was the fact that they had a sizeable pile of coin in front of them that let Sebastian keep going, but eventually he realized he should quit while he was ahead. Alistair begrudgingly agreed and they stumbled out of the tavern, arm-in-arm, singing a bright tune.

They weren't twenty feet inside the palace when a  _very_  upset Elissa Cousland-Theirin greeted them.

"Alistair! So  _glad_  to see you made it back in one piece. Who is our friend, darling?" Her voice oozed sarcasm.  _What in_ _Thedas_ _is this asshole doing in my palace? What has he gotten my poor Alistair into?_

"Thish—thish is Sebashun Vael. From Shtarkhaven," Alistair slurred, giggling as he realized that he had absolutely massacred that attempt at coherent speech. Sebastian, who wasn't much less drunk than the King, pretended to be mad and failed miserably. Both men doubled over with laughter as Elissa only folded her arms even tighter against her chest.

She cleared her throat.  _Great. Got him drunk. Perfect._  "Boys." No response. " _BOYS_!"

That got Sebastian's attention, who managed to break through to Alistair.  _Och. Elissa's just as much of a bitch as ever._ After a few moments, the laughter subsided and Alistair straightened up. "Yes, love?"

Elissa peaked an eyebrow. "Starkhaven? Why are we hosting a guest from the Free Marches?"

"Oh, he'sh jusht an ol' friend, Ellie. He ushed t'be in the Chantry here b'fore I got conscripted into the Wardens," Alistair mumbled, casting a sidelong glance towards Sebastian, who wisely picked up on the ruse.  _Don't mention the treaty of support. Got it._

Sebastian bowed deeply towards Elissa. "Yes, Your Highness. Alistair and I used to be quite close."  _I love how she's pretending to not know me. Obviously Alistair didn't talk about me much to her…either that or she's been keeping up a helluva ruse for years._

"Well, why have I never heard of you then? Alistair tells me everything," Elissa retorted. As soon as the words left her mouth, a flashback to the Ferelden Archery Tournament some years prior hit her like a hammer.  _Holy Maker…Alistair was there…the first to congratulate Sebastian when he won. And he's been babbling on about his old buddy 'Seb' for_ _years_ _. How did I never make that connection before?_

_Oh, I'm pretty sure I haven't told you_ _everything_ _, my dear._ "I'm sure I have, dear.  _Sure_  of it. But you know how I dishlike talking 'bout my time in the Chantry. Sebashun here was 'bout the only good part of it," Alistair fibbed.

Elissa folded her arms across her chest. "So…why is he here?"  _Get this ass out of my house before he opens his wicked mouth and ruins everything, Alistair._

Sebastian broke in gently, looking very deliberately at Elissa. "Can't a friend visit another friend? Does there need to be a reason?"  _Oh, this is going to be a delightful trip._

Elissa sighed, eager to get away from the men before either she or Sebastian slipped up and had to fully disclose the nature of their prior encounters. "I suppose not. Alistair, you have an early meeting. You should think about getting to bed." She turned and left the men standing there.

Once she was out of earshot, Alistair and Sebastian let out sighs of relief.

Sebastian looked over at Alistair. "You're not going to tell her about the treaty, are you," he asked dubiously.  _She'd screw it all up just for spite._

Alistair's eyes flew wide. "Maker,  _no_! I'm the King, not her. I don't have to get her approval for everything, you know."

"She'll have your balls, won't she?" Sebastian smiled smugly.

"You know it," Alistair muttered as he led Sebastian to his room for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited since it was originally posted in order to fit with an unplanned development in Black Sheep, White Armor (Elissa and Sebastian have—ahem—met before, hehe). Thanks to all of you who have favorited and/or rec'd this story!


	22. Interlude: Rollin' in the Deep (Roads)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke discovers she forgot something.

Aspasia rummaged through her pack again. "Could've sworn I packed it," she muttered.

"Packed what, sweetheart?" Anders asked as he smoothed a hand over her back.  _Hmm. She didn't stiffen this time. Progress!_

"Oh, just my journal. I've kept it for years. Can't believe I forgot it." Aspasia stuffed her supplies back into her pack and straightened up, slinging it over her shoulder. "Oh well. I'll just make some notes when I get back, I guess."

"Or it might end up being so awful here that you won't wish to remember it. Perhaps your oversight was a blessing in disguise," Anders teased.

Aspasia started walking to catch up with Varric and Fenris, Anders right by her side. "That could happen too, Anders. So far this trip has been nothing but trouble."

The rebel mage gave her a wry smile. "Don't I know it! I tried to tell you people but  _nooooooo_. You had to come see for yourself. How much do you figure that little side trip to find the roundabout way cost us in supplies, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," Aspasia muttered, then shook her head. "That's not really true. We can't afford any more delays like that. Unless we find some source of food down here that isn't spoiled by darkspawn taint, we have about two weeks left."

Anders stopped and reached out for Aspasia's arm to stop her. "There are little cities all over the place down here, Hawke. We can scavenge, even if they've been abandoned. I'll be able to tell if things are tainted or not, remember? Plus…nugs. Have you ever tasted the soft flesh of a roasted nug? They're quite tasty."

Aspasia gave him a thin smile. "That's true…I forgot about nugs. Fair enough. I suppose I can try to relax a bit now."

Anders looked at Aspasia as she spoke and he felt his anxieties dissolve. He struggled around the woman, even from the first moment they met; on the one hand he knew that his situation—Justice, being a Grey Warden—necessitated that he avoid romance but on the other…he just couldn't help how he felt when she was near.  _Maybe it's a sign—maybe we are supposed to be together…fighting for the mages…rebelling against the Templars._ A romanticized mental picture of the two of them standing tall against the Chantry made him smile.

Then they found the lyrium idol…and Bartrand locked them in the primeval thaig, leaving them to die with a bit less than two weeks of supplies among them.

"I'm so sorry, Hawke," Varric whispered as they made camp for the third night since Bartrand's betrayal. "Trust me…if— _when_  we make it out of here, I'm going to kill him with my bare hands!"

"I'll be right there to help, friend," Aspasia spat.

"Me too," Fenris grumbled as he settled into his bedroll.

"Me three…providing I make it through first watch tonight," Anders muttered.

"I'll help you, Anders. I don't want you falling asleep again," Aspasia said as she set her roll and pack against a rock as a cushion for her back.

The mages watched the crackling flames of their fire as Varric and Fenris fell asleep. Anders gradually crept closer and closer, until he was sitting right beside Aspasia. He spied her hand resting on the ground and dared to slip his hand over top of it. She gasped slightly and looked at him with a mixed expression of confusion and acceptance. Aspasia spread her fingers, letting Anders thread his digits among hers. They sat there for a long time like that, holding hands, until finally Aspasia spoke up.

"Why, Anders…I think you  _like_  me," she whispered in his ear.

Anders smiled shyly. "Indeed, I do.  _Very_  much."

Aspasia's eyes danced mischeviously. "So if you like me so much…why haven't you kissed me yet?"

"Well, I didn't think it would be appropriate around the others. Since they're asleep though, I do believe I will do just that," Anders murmured as he took his other hand and hooked it under Aspasia's chin, turning her towards him as he ducked in for a gentle kiss. Before long, the kiss deepened as both mages explored each other, their hands starting to wander over their robes.

Anders dared to snake his hand down Aspasia's side and across the top of her thigh. When he was just about to brush against  _her_ , she grabbed his hand. "Anders…I should let you know that I've never done anything but kiss. Plus, our companions are only feet away. This isn't the time or the place…I'm sorry…I shouldn't have let myself get carried away like that," she whispered, looking away, cheeks burning.

Anders pulled his hand away, separating himself from Aspasia. "Fine, fine. Sorry…I didn't know. And you're right…this isn't the place, even if you  _were_  experienced in those ways."

Aspasia sighed and folded her hands in her lap. "If nothing else, if we die down here, at least I got to kiss those perfect lips of yours, Anders." She furrowed her brows as she continued. "I don't know what this means…where it might go…but let's keep this quiet. At least for now, okay? I don't think the others would appreciate us using our watch to make out. When we get back to Kirkwall we'll figure this out, I  _promise_."

"Agreed. Let's focus on the task at hand. I can say from experience that being down in the Deep Roads…well, when it's the quietest is when you should be the most alert. And it's been entirely too quiet down here so far."

"Yes, it has," Aspasia said, nodding. "Let's get back to watch."

The next day, the foursome made it to one of the innermost chambers of the thaig. From a ledge above, they watched a strange creature that seemed to be made of floating stones. There was no way they could get past this area without encountering it; the ledge they were on didn't lead anywhere else, and the only way out of the chamber was through a door behind the creature.

"Shit," Aspasia grumbled. "What about you, Fenris? Can't you just phase through this thing? Explode it from within?"

"I'm not sure that what it actually  _is_  is something that is solid enough to phase through," he muttered in response.

"I think he's right. It looks like a profane. Bartrand told me about these once. They're basically a half-dead dwarf that the stone rejected…it becomes a sort-of demon in the process. They feed on the hunger and wrath of those around them," Varric said as he stared at the creature. "Wouldn't do any good to try phasing through it, would it Fenris? Don't you have to basically call on your anger to glow in the dark like you do?"

"I do not  _glow in the dark_ , dwarf," Fenris muttered, irritated. "But you  _are_  correct…I do have to tap into my anger to use my markings. Sounds like I would only make it stronger if I tried to do so…sorry, Hawke."

"Well…if it's only half-dead …maybe I can try to talk my way past it," she replied with a wink at the dwarf.

"Flash it some of your cleavage and it won't be able to resist you, Hawke," Varric shot back, grinning mischeviously.

"Aspasia…you can't trust that thing. Do not make a deal with a demon," Anders commanded in her ear as the group made their way down to the chamber. He shook his head as Justice started voicing his displeasure at the situation. It did nothing to dissuade the spirit.

"Trust me, Anders," Aspasia whispered back as they approached the profane. "I know what I'm doing."  _No, I don't…but they don't have to know that._

In the end, Aspasia opted to  _not_  take the profane's deal to let him continue feeding in exchange for the key. All were relieved, perhaps none more than Justice, though he let Anders know that he was not happy that a deal with the demon had even been considered. Aspasia questioned her decision to not take the deal as they dealt with the even more powerful ancient rock wraith that lay beyond, but after learning the hard way how to avoid its energy bursts, it was only a matter of time before Anders froze it and Fenris was able to sneak in and make the killing blow. At last—after an additional week trapped in the thaig—the foursome now had the key to get out and piles of treasure to boot.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

A week later, Aspasia and her friends emerged from the Deep Roads entrance.  _Thank the Maker...we just ate the last of the food for last night's meal._ They all squinted at the sunlight, blinded by its brightness. Varric dropped to his knees and kissed the ground, muttering thanks to the Maker for delivering them from the bowels of the planet. And, unbeknownst to Aspasia, her brother's actions as a new Templar recruit paid off; the welcoming party that Knight-Captain Cullen had been planning to have waiting for her was encamped miles away, even further from Kirkwall.

Anders and Aspasia looked at each other, unsure how to act. They were safely on the surface now, but the night they had kissed still weighed on them. They hadn't had the time to be alone, to discuss what had happened, and that silence only muddied the waters more.  _Is it okay for us to flaunt our feelings? Is it okay for two apostates to freely show their love?_ Just as Anders decided that he was going to go for it—to demonstrate his feelings and wrap her up in his arms for a long, passionate kiss—she looked away and strode forward, assuming her 'tough cookie' persona again as she guided her friends back to Kirkwall.

 _So that's how it's gonna be? Am I just to be her dirty little secret?_ Anders shook his head lightly as he trotted to catch the others. If that was going to be the nature of their relationship, he wasn't sure he could accept it…but it might be the only way he could be in a relationship with her at all.  _If I have to sneak around to be with her, night after night, I'm…ANDERS. YOU CANNOT ALLOW YOURSELF TO BE DISTRACTED LIKE THIS. YOU MUST MOVE FORWARD WITH OUR PLANS._  Anders nodded lightly to himself, acknowledging that Justice was right, as usual. Just as Anders was trying to steel himself for the heartache of cutting her out of his life—for  _both_  of their sakes—Aspasia looked back over her shoulder and winked at him.  _Aw, Void. I can be her secret. As long as she is all mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the 'interlude' chapters. Next chapter will be the start of Act II and a resumption of Hawke's journal entries.


	23. An Inconvenient Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aspasia learns about Alistair's fate. Set between Acts I and II of DA2.

_“I still can’t believe I forgot to bring this thing into the Deep Roads. Oh well. Perhaps I’ll do a sweeping entry outlining exactly what happened at some point but the highlights are: Bartrand is a dick, Bartrand is a dick, and Bartrand is a dick. Did I mention Bartrand is a dick? Because he is. Anyway, as soon as Varric finds a market for all of the loot we found, I should be a fairly rich woman. Gets better though…my idiot brother joined the FUCKING TEMPLARS! Really, Carver? Also? Anders and I made out in the Deep Roads and now I’m totally confused. I suppose at some point we’ll have to discuss what happened. I’m content with just having him as a kissing partner, to be honest. I mean…I just get the feeling that Anders is hiding so much from me. Oh yeah…and I almost forgot…found out that Alistair is married now. That changes everything.”_

“Bartrand was indeed a dick,” Varric grumbled. “And I had a sneaking suspicion that something happened between those two mages down there in the Deep Roads. Junior as a Templar…well, that wasn’t really a huge surprise considering his inferiority complex. But the fact that Alistair Theirin got married changed _everything_? Something tells me that the relationship between those two was much more complicated than she let on.”

\--------------------------

“What’s wrong, Mother?” Aspasia whispered in Leandra’s ear as they slowly walked through the Hightown shopping district. Leandra paused at a textile merchant’s booth, running her slender fingers over a bolt of velvet with a faraway look in her eyes. _This is nice…just some girl time with Mother. Definitely need this after sleeping for nearly a week straight as soon as I got back. But Maker’s breath…when did the sun get so bloody bright?_

Leandra Hawke looked at her daughter with shining eyes. “It’s nothing, sweetheart, really. I just…” She pulled Aspasia in for a long, crushing hug. “I’m so glad you made it home safely, my darling girl. And thank you again for leaving Carver here for me…I’m pretty sure Gamlen meant to squeeze money out of me, somehow.”

“But he joined the bloody _Templars_ , Mum,” Aspasia whined into her mother’s hair as she tried to wriggle free of Leandra’s crushing grip. _Damn. My old woman is way stronger than I give her credit for._

Leandra released her daughter, taking her firmly by the shoulders. “And it was that which saved your _hide_ , girl,” she hissed. “He distracted Knight-Captain Cullen when he would have met you where you came out of the Deep Roads. He and I spoke about this at length. He is in the Templars to protect you, Aspasia…to keep Cullen’s and Meredith’s heat off of you for as long as he can. Trust me, he was quite torn over this decision. He feels like he’s spitting on your father’s and Bethany’s memory.”

_Really? That selfish little shit did that…for me? Huh._ “I—I…” Aspasia stammered, unsure how to react. She looked down at her boots and gave a tiny _hmph_.

“Should go to the Gallows and kiss his boots? Yes,” Leandra chided, chuckling at the end.

Aspasia gave her mother a sidelong glance. “I’ll find a way to thank him, Mother. I don’t know how, but I will.”

Leandra took her eldest by the elbow, leading her away from the crowded merchant booths to a secluded corner. “You can thank him by not being an idiot. Stop hanging around that damned Anders. I don’t like him, Aspasia. I don’t trust him. He’s gonna get you in trouble, and I don’t mean the missed curfew kind,” she growled, face stern.

“I’m a grown woman, I know what I’m doing,” Aspasia grumbled under her breath as she looked down and noticed one of her boots had come untied. “It’s not what you think.”

Leandra chose to say nothing further about the subject. “So you said the rest of your loot should be sold this week…shall I petition the Viscount about the estate again?”

“Why can’t we just go back to Ferelden now? We’ve got the money,” Aspasia grumbled as she straightened back up, adjusting her robes.

“Lothering is gone, Aspasia. What is there to go back to?” Leandra said firmly, not considering the real reason why her daughter would want to go back. The wounded expression on Aspasia’s face cut deep. “Oh…oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I forgot. Why don’t you try to write him? Let him know you’re in Kirkwall?”

“I’ll do that tonight when I get back. Let’s go to the Keep. I’ll go visit Aveline, and you can try to get in a word with the Viscount. Even if we do go back to Ferelden, it doesn’t hurt to have the estate back in our hands,” Aspasia said with a shrug.

Leandra smiled and clasped her hands together. “Oh, that’s a splendid idea. You haven’t been to see Avie since you returned…I’m sure she’s about _this close_ to strangling you for it. Perhaps I’ll get to talk to that handsome Seneschal again. Bran, I think his name is. Have you met him?” She quirked an eyebrow at her daughter.

Aspasia nodded. “I had to speak with him regarding that little rescue mission I did for the Viscount. He’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. Total prick, though.”

Leandra shook her head and clucked her tongue at her daughter’s choice of words. Aspasia smirked and took her mother by the arm, leading her towards the Keep.

Ten minutes later, they were walking in to the massive main hall of the Viscount’s Keep. The ladies Hawke started up the staircase, splitting at the first landing to go in their separate directions. Aspasia looked over her shoulder just before she descended down into the City Guard barracks, catching sight of Seneschal Bran staring at her. Noticing that he had been caught, he simply gave Aspasia a slow nod before turning to face her mother again, who had been chatting away with wild hand gestures the whole time. Aspasia scrunched her nose at the oddity of his stare but shrugged it off as she approached Aveline’s office door.

“Hawke,” the redheaded Captain of Kirkwall’s City Guard said without looking up from her paperwork, “So nice to see you. I’d heard you made it back. Are you going to tell me all about it?” Aveline looked up.

“Well, let’s see,” Aspasia started as she took a chair opposite Aveline, “the trip started out easily enough. We had nearly gotten down to the depth we needed to be at when we ran into a massive cave-in, though. Bartrand sent us around to find an alternate route, which we did, but it took nearly a week to find. And the whole way…tons of darkspawn. I’m glad I took Anders; he was able to sense them before they had a chance to ambush us, most of the time.” Aspasia paused, a slight smile on her lips.

Aveline noticed the smile and felt a pang of disappointment. _Of course…she would seek the comfort of a fellow apostate, that’s understandable. Maker, I hope she knows what she’s doing though._

Aspasia continued with her tale, speaking animatedly. “Anyway, we reached this primeval thaig…both Varric and Bartrand figured that based on the runes and stuff, the dwarves that lived there must have preceded the first Paragons. Tons of treasure…tons of lyrium, too. But in one particular chamber, we found an idol made of pure lyrium. When we showed it to Bartrand, he flipped out. Locked us in the thaig.”

Aveline’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you make it out? There must have been a second exit.”

“There was. It was guarded by an ancient rock wraith, though. Nearly killed Varric, and Fenris’ lyrium markings—you know how they let him phase through things and kill them—were totally useless against it. So it was up to Anders and I to keep throwing spells at it to slow it down enough so Fenris could hack-and-slash at the damned thing,” Aspasia said solemnly, before perking up with a wide smile. “But the treasure it was guarding…well, once Varric finds buyers for all of it, I can pick and choose my work. I’ll also be able to buy the Amell Estate outright if the Viscount won’t turn it back over based on my grandparents’ will.” She paused, considering her next words. “I’m…also considering returning to Ferelden, now that I have the money to do so.”

Aveline put her feet up on a corner of her desk not yet claimed by paperwork. “Sounds like quite the adventure. Still doesn’t explain that silly grin on your face when you talk about Anders. ‘Fess up, Hawke,” she said firmly.

Aspasia smiled shyly and blushed. “He confessed to having a crush on me when we were down in the thaig.”

“Half the male population of Kirkwall has a crush on you, Hawke, but go on,” Aveline teased.

Aspasia pretended to get offended. “Oh hush, you. So we kissed. That’s it. No big deal,” she blurted, waving her hands.

“So…will I be required to don a formal gown for your wedding any time soon?” Aveline asked with a wink.

“Maker, no! He’s just a warm body,” Aspasia grumbled as she shifted in her seat, looking anywhere but at Aveline.

Curious, Aveline leaned in closer. “Leandra doesn’t approve of Anders, does she?”

“ _No_ , she doesn’t. But she seems to forget that I’m twenty-one and perfectly capable of making my own decisions,” Aspasia spat, like a petulant child, folding her arms across her chest.

Aveline took her feet from the desk, leaning forward with a stern finger and harsh glare. “But _you_ forget that Anders is considerably older than you, and wanted not only by the Templars, but also the Grey Wardens. And let’s not forget the whole abomination thing. She’s concerned not because of your decisions, but because he has all the makings of being highly unstable. She just doesn’t want you to end up getting caught by the Templars because of him…neither do I,” she finished quietly.

Aspasia frowned. “But _Carver’s_ a Templar now, so I should be safe.”

Aveline let out a rather inelegant snort. “I heard about _that_ too. He can only do so much to keep you out of their hands, Hawke. You must remain vigilant about keeping your abilities under wraps.”

Aspasia looked down and shook her head before letting out a huff and looking back at Aveline more softly. “I will. Trust me, I’ve learned a thing or two about keeping off the Templars’ radar from Anders already. Look, I appreciate the concern…really, I do. If my gut tells me to call this off, I will. I promise. But until then, I’m simply going to enjoy the company of a fellow apostate. Besides, now that I have some money and free time, I need to track down Alistair. I need to know if there’s anything left between us.”

Aveline gave Aspasia a thin smile. “Okay, Hawke. I trust you. Oh, and I may have some work for you soon, if you’re up for it.”

Aspasia got up and smoothed down her robes, moving towards the door. “Sure. Just say the word and I’ll be there.” She paused, hand on the door, and slumped. “Say…Avie?”

“Yes?” Aveline responded with a curious smirk.

Aspasia looked over her shoulder. “Would you return with me to Ferelden if I decided to go?”

Aveline’s heart broke a little at the sad expression on her friend’s face, but the harsh truth was that there was no way she would return to Ferelden. “What’s there for me to go back to? I’m sorry Hawke, but my life is here now. Don’t let that sway your decision, though.”

Crestfallen, Aspasia looked at the doorknob in her hand. “I—I won’t. But I do have a lot to think about. Good afternoon, Avie.”

Aveline smiled and waved Hawke away as she returned to her paperwork. Aspasia exited the barracks and met up with her mother in the main hall. “So…any progress?”

“The Seneschal is reasonably certain that he can straighten out all the paperwork, but he asked me to have you stop by and speak to him personally about it,” Leandra said with an exasperated huff. “Perhaps you could do that this week?” Aspasia nodded as they made their way back to Lowtown, to Gamlen’s hovel. She had a date with Anders to prepare for.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

“Have you ever been in love before?” Aspasia asked as she took another swig of mead straight from the bottle. The cloying honey wine was going straight to her head, but she wasn’t so drunk that she couldn’t appreciate the beautiful sunset over the water. Anders had managed to find a rare strip of grass on which to have their impromptu picnic, and it was close enough to the docks for them to be able to feel the pleasant sea breeze on the otherwise sticky evening. She looked over at him and flashed a crooked smile.

“Just once,” Anders mumbled softly before popping a grape in his mouth. “It…didn’t end well. How about you?” He gave her a quick smile and slipped an arm around Aspasia’s shoulders.

She twirled the mead bottle in her hand, inspecting the label. “Yes. Right before we fled Lothering,” she said softly, biting her lip to keep stinging tears at bay.

Anders withdrew his arm, folding his hands in his lap. “Do you know if he survived the Blight? Would you return to Ferelden if he still lives?” _Pleasepleaseplease let the bastard be dead so I can have my chance?_

Aspasia smiled to herself. “Oh yes…he’s alive, alright. And I _am_ considering returning just as soon as Varric finishes turning all that loot from the thaig into sovereigns.”

_Oh. Dammit._ “So you’ve been in contact with him already, then,” Anders whispered, putting a bit of distance between himself and Aspasia.

Aspasia sighed and she took another pull from the bottle, flicking her tongue over her lower lip to catch an errant drop when she finished. “Not exactly. I know he survived because he’s a Grey Warden. He was there when the archdemon fell, according to Varric.”

Anders whipped his head to look at Aspasia, genuine surprise on his face. “Wait. Wait a _damned_ minute. Do you mean to say you’re in love with Alistair Theirin? The King of _fucking_ Ferelden?”

Aspasia’s jaw dropped before blue eyes narrowed on the apostate mage. “What in the Black Void are you talking about? How do you even know this, anyway?” _Is he just making all this up because he can’t stand the idea of me leaving Kirkwall?_

Anders tried to reach out to touch her arm in comfort, but it was swatted away. “You seem upset by this--”

“It’s just…a surprise, that’s all. Nothing more. Go on,” Aspasia said dismissively.

Anders twiddled his thumbs, glancing between them and Aspasia with a guilty look in his eyes. “Anyway, I know he’s the King, because…I don’t know how else to say this, so I’m just going to spit it out. He’s _married_. His wife’s name is Elissa…she’s the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. She’s the one that conscripted me…the one that’s still looking for me.”

_He’s…married? To ELISSA?_ Aspasia scrambled to her feet, holding her hand against her mouth and nose as she started to hyperventilate. Anders rose then, approaching the petite blonde with the intent of wrapping his arms around her, but she shoved him away angrily. “Oh, Hawke…I’m so sorry. I—I just thought you should know, before you went back to Ferelden to reunite with him,” he pleaded, moving slowly forward as Aspasia stumbled backward, face white.

Aspasia swallowed hard. “No, it’s alright. Not your fault. Thanks for telling me. I…I should go. I need to be alone,” she muttered before turning tail and rushing off. _I also think I’m going to throw up._

“Of course. Take all the time you need, sweetheart. I’ll be here if you need,” Anders called after her as he silently admonished himself. He crouched down, gathering up the picnic materials and shoving them in the wicker basket…then he kicked that basket hard enough that it flew several feet, breaking apart and scattering the foodstuffs within as he stormed off. _Dammit. Now I’ve gone and done it. Does she even believe me? Will she always associate me with that pain?_

Aspasia walked, numb from a combination of shock and drink. She started towards home, but veered left at the last moment, skirting the staircase that led up to Gamlen’s home. Chewing on her lower lip the whole time, she shuffled along, lost in thought, recalling all the things Alistair had said back in Lothering.

_I just don't know if I feel anything for Elissa beyond friendship… I will dream of nothing but you…I'm literally all Elissa has right now…when I’m around you, I can’t even think straight. I don’t want to…I would never lie to you._

Before she knew it, Aspasia had instinctively stopped at the door to The Hanged Man. Moments later, she was sitting in Varric’s suite and Norah was setting down a tankard of ale in front of her. Aspasia took a long swig and buried her face in her arms.

“What’s the matter, Hawke?” Varric asked as he drank from his own ale.

Blue eyes popped up from alabaster flesh limbs. “Varric. Do you happen to know who the sitting King of Ferelden is?”

Varric thought for a moment, scratching at his jaw. “Uh, yeah…of course. Alistair Theirin.”

Blue eyes shifted downward as Aspasia considered her next question. “And do you know if he’s taken a wife?”

Varric nodded, perplexed by the line of questioning. “His Queen is the Hero of Ferelden. Why do you want to know?” _I don’t know what her history is with the King…but this is sounding like it might be the makings of a great story._

_Maker’s balls! Anders was telling the truth. Well, I guess Mother gets her wish. We’re staying in Kirkwall for good, now…fuck Ferelden. _“No reason,” Hawke said as she sat up, visibly stiffening, waving away the dwarf’s inquiry. “How long until the rest of my loot is sold?” She barked, voice harsh and all-business.

Varric hopped down from his chair and rifled through a chest, pulling out a white bag and judging its weight. “Well…here,” he muttered as he handed over the bag of gold. “There’s the first half. I should have the remainder by the end of the week. Listen…if you need to talk, I’m here. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Varric…for everything,” Aspasia mumbled as she snatched up the gold and stood, leaving Varric to watch her leave, stunned by her sudden change in demeanor. _Did I say something wrong?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Golden Grey is up and completed. It details the relationship between Alistair and Aspasia (Chapters 3-6). Several of the things Aspasia recalls come from events in that fic. Also, I will be making a couple of changes to Ch. 21 soon in order to make it fit a bit better with things that happen in Black Sheep, White Armor.


	24. Rebounds and Assists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke goes on the rebound thanks to some help from her friends Isabela and liquor. Set between Acts I and II in-game.

_“Thank goodness we’ve got this big move to keep Mother and I occupied, because I’ve been in a serious funk ever since I learned that Alistair and Elissa got married. But…at Isabela’s urging, I had a bit of a pity party and got drunk. Didn’t help.”_

“May not have helped _her_ , but I think Blondie might have disagreed,” Varric muttered.

\-------------------------------

Aspasia was busy; just last week, the Viscount had granted the Amell Estate back to its rightful owner—Leandra Hawke. Now styled the Hawke Estate, the long-vacant home was undergoing a thorough scrubbing in preparation for the big move. Rather than spend another day covered in dust and grime, cleaning up all the disgusting things the squatters left behind as she desperately tried to put Alistair out of her mind, Aspasia thought she would start gathering up her belongings at Gamlen’s hovel.

She knelt by a green chest on the floor of the room she once shared with Carver. _The last of my things from Lothering…I hope I’m ready to do this. No, you know what? I have to do this. The sooner, the better.  _She took a deep breath, then produced a key on a long cord from around her neck and unlocked it. Resting on top was a perfectly preserved red rose. She set that aside, momentarily, as she looked through the rest of her things. There were a few old letters from various would-be suitors, a lock of Bethany’s raven hair from the time Carver had cut off one of her pigtails, and three of her father’s books on magic. _Perfect…just what I was looking for. Break the spell, watch the rose die, and move on with my life._

She thought back to the day that Alistair had brought her that blasted rose. He was leaving Lothering and wanted to give her something to hold onto— _something perfect and beautiful and sweet, like you_ , he had said. _What was I thinking? Oh yeah…he would never lie to me. Well, I know better now._ With a waggle of her fingers—and a few unspoken lines about Fate and blessings and profuse thanks to the Maker—the rose had been preserved.

Aspasia picked up one of Malcolm Hawke’s books—a tome on enchantment—and flipped through it. When she reached the page on love spells, she scanned the page quickly. _There it is…_ She plucked the rose from the floor, twirling it in her fingers as she inhaled its still-heady scent. Tears started to prickle her eyes as she thought of Alistair and Aspasia tried her best to stifle the emotional rush. As she read the words to break the enchantment aloud, she stared intensely at the deep red velvety petals, half-expecting the rose to wilt on the spot. When it didn’t, Aspasia let out a frustrated huff and stuffed her items back within the green chest, placing the rose gently back on top before she brought the lid down and locked it with a resounding _click_.

_Probably just takes a bit to work. Next time I open that chest, it should be nicely shriveled. Just like my heart. I need to get out of this damned house…I need a fucking drink._

Aspasia got up and whipped her hair into a quick braid. _Thank goodness it’s finally getting back to a length that I can do something with._ She looked in the mirror, deciding she needed to put on a bit of lip stain because spending the last several days in that dank, dark estate had done nothing for her complexion. Somewhat satisfied, she left the apartment and made a beeline straight for The Hanged Man.

It wasn’t quite _noon_.

The fact that Isabela was sidled up to the bar, swill in hand, when Aspasia arrived was no surprise, really. The pirate’s offer to buy the first round, however, was.

“Hawke…you look so sad. Come now sweet thing, let’s do the girl thing and chat, shall we?” Aspasia nodded and took the drink Corff had set in front of her. “What’s his name? I’ll introduce my daggers to his back,” Isabela said with a wink.

“That’s not necessary…really. I just need to accept that I’m here in Kirkwall, and he’s there in Ferelden, and that’s how it simply must be,” Aspasia said with a sigh. “I need to move on.”

Isabela leaned into Aspasia, her spicy perfume nearly overwhelming when mingled with the residual scent of rum wafting up from her  glass. “Now that’s the spirit. How about _moving on_ with Anders? Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

Aspasia gave Izzy a weak smile. “Yes, I’ve _noticed_. We kissed down in the Deep Roads, you know. He’s been trying to woo me or… _something_ ever since. I was holding back—I didn’t want to hurt him when I went back to Ferelden—but now that the thing I had there is done, I’ll be staying in Kirkwall with Mother.” She gave a half-hearted shrug.

“So what you’re saying is that if I go get Anders and bring him here, you two lovebirds can give it a go, right?” Isabela asked, amber eyes dancing mischievously.

Aspasia’s eyes shot wide open. “Um, Izzy, I don’t think that’s such a good—“

… _Idea?_ Aspasia didn’t even get to finish her sentence before Isabela was at the door of the tavern. She shook her head and finished her drink, procuring another before making her way up the stairs to Varric’s suite. Tapping lightly on the open door’s frame, she stuck her head inside, spotting the dwarf just standing there, doing nothing at all. “Varric?”

Varric shook from his reverie. “Yeah, Hawke? Whatcha need,” he asked cheerfully.

Aspasia stepped inside the suite, taking a chair at Varric’s large table. “Just a drinking companion, really. Isabela has it in her head that Anders and I are a match made by the Maker himself, apparently,” she said sarcastically as she rolled her eyes.

Varric chuckled and joined Aspasia at the table. “Weeeell…he’s an apostate, you’re an apostate. You both have blonde hair…why not? There could be worse people to date, I suppose,” he teased, giving her a crooked grin.

_He makes a good point. Besides…Alistair obviously moved on with Elissa. I’ll just keep it casual…not like we’re gonna run off and get hitched tomorrow or anything._

“You’re right, Varric. Why not?” Aspasia blurted just before draining her mug.

“CORFF! Send Norah up with another round!” Varric yelled.

“Norah’s not available,” came a muffled reply from the neighboring room. Varric and Aspasia looked at each other quizzically.

“That…sounded suspiciously like your _brother_ , Hawke,” Varric speculated.

“Yeah…it did, didn’t it? Funny…I thought Templars had to take vows of celibacy,” Aspasia muttered as she took a glass from Varric’s sideboard and put it to the adjoining wall. Her eyes went wide and face blanched. “I…I…” _What in the Maker’s name are they doing in there?_

“Gimme that, Hawke,” Varric muttered, snatching the glass from Aspasia’s hand. After a couple of moments, he pulled away from the wall and laughed heartily.

Aspasia grabbed a bottle of liquor—she didn’t know what kind, but it didn’t matter—and took several desperate gulps. _Whatever it takes to erase what I just heard from my memory_. “New fodder for your stories?” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before setting the bottle down on the table.

“You bet. Junior’ll kill me, but it’ll be oh-so-worth it,” Varric replied with a glint in his eyes, spotting the label on the bottle Aspasia had just put down. _Holy Maker...she’s gonna regret drinking so much of that stuff in the morning._

Just then, Isabela made her grand return, Anders in semi-reluctant tow. “Has anybody seen Hawke?” Several accusatory fingers pointed towards the stairs.

“She must’ve _run_ to the clinic,” Aspasia muttered under her breath as she sank back down onto the chair, Varric’s liquor having already started to take effect. Moments later, Isabela arrived, breathless as she shoved a panting Anders forward.

“There. _Sit_ ,” Isabela commanded as Anders grabbed the chair next to Aspasia. “Now…you two little lovebirds get to doing it. Chop, chop.”

“Isabela!” Aspasia hissed before turning towards Anders. “I’m sorry she dragged you down here, Anders. I don’t know what she told you.”

Anders smiled warmly at Aspasia before leaning in. “She told me now or never…after that, I came quite willingly,” he whispered in her ear. “Do you want to go talk somewhere a bit more…um--”

“ _Not_ under prying eyes?” Aspasia finished helpfully, eyeing Isabela. The pirate smirked deviously. “Maker, yes. Let’s take a walk.” The pair of mages rose abruptly, eliciting a pout from Isabela and a cackle from Varric. Together, Aspasia and Anders made their way out of The Hanged Man and into the bustling Lowtown streets.

“Hawke…are you…drunk? It’s scarcely midday!” Anders muttered, noticing Aspasia wobbling merrilly as she walked.

“Shhhh— _hic_!” Aspasia replied, giggling when she hiccupped, which caused her to hiccup again. The cycle became vicious, and Anders only shook his head, grinning. Aspasia took a deep breath, holding it with cheeks puffed and eyes squeezed shut. _Oh…my…how adorable. _Anders watched, hands held out tentatively should Aspasia topple over, before finally deciding to cast a healing spell on her. _She’ll thank me later._

Aspasia opened her eyes and let out the held breath dramatically, having been too drunk to notice Anders’ spell. “There. All gone,” she said cheerfully. They resumed their walk, finding themselves overlooking the water, spotting the docks across the harbor.

Anders paused, looking down guiltily as he slumped. “Hawke, look…I’m sorry for what I said last time we—“

“It wasn’t anything you said, Anders,” Aspasia said as she smoothed a hand on his back. “It was just unexpected news, that’s all.”

Anders cast a sad, sidelong glance at the blonde. “Sounds like the two of you were quite serious…”

Aspasia rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose. “Ah, I think it was just one of those whirlwind things…once he had a chance to think things through he probably realized that he didn’t care for me as much as he thought,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant, but coming off rather bitter.

Anders straightened up and furrowed his brows, tilting his head skeptically. “He could have at least _tried_ to tell you, Hawke. To just leave you hanging—to find out about his marriage from _me_ , of all people—that was just wrong.”

Aspasia rubbed the back of her neck as she inspected an interesting pebble on the ground. _It wasn’t just the being-married thing that I didn’t know about…_ “Yeah…I mean, he knew where I was—or should have. I sent him letters so he’d know I’m in Kirkwall. I never heard anything back,” she muttered, choking on the last sentence.

Anders hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her head up. “Are you sure he _got_ your messages? I can tell you firsthand that Ferelden is a mess right now because of the ravages of the Blight.”

“I guess I’ll never know,” Aspasia said, blinking back tears as she shrugged. Her demeanor hardened, telling Anders more than anything she could have said.

 _She’s not telling me everything, but that’s okay._ “So you’re not returning to Ferelden, then,” Anders said, a slightly inappropriate amount of hope in his voice.

Aspasia shook her head firmly and gave him a hard look. “Absolutely _not_.”

Anders smiled gently. _Isabela was right—this is a now-or-never moment._ “Well, in that case…I know I may not be a King…but I certainly would like the chance to treat you like a Queen.” He reached out, cupping her cheek.

Aspasia closed her eyes at the touch, giggling. “That was _terrible_ ,” she whispered, pausing to lean into his touch. “Anders…I’m not sure I can give completely of myself just yet, but—“

She was interrupted by a gentle kiss. Relaxing under his touch, she parted her lips to give him access. As their tongues danced, Anders drew her in closer, cradling her head as Aspasia snaked her arms around his waist. He broke the kiss after several long moments, looking down into her sapphire eyes with admiration as he stroked his thumb across her chin.

“Anders,” Aspasia whispered, voice raw as she buried her face into his chest, “Please help me forget him…”

“Of course, sweetheart,” he mumbled into her hair as he stroked the braid. “Anything for you, my Queen.”


	25. Relationship Status: It's Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aspasia and Anders reach a crossroads in their budding romance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover from Black Sheep, White Armor: Book Two for continuity.

_“The more time I spend around Anders, the stranger this whole thing between us gets. I mean, at first it was great—we spent lots of time together and I really enjoyed his presence. As of late, though, he shows these little flashes of jealousy that just do not make sense. He has this whole thing against that Chantry Brother we helped before going on expedition. No matter what I tell him, Anders will not let it go. I mean…yeah, I’d like to see Sebastian again, to tell him thank you for the blessing if nothing else, but I swear that’s it. Anders acts like I’m going to jump on the poor guy in the middle of the damned Chantry! Okay…maybe I would…but hey, he’s really good looking. Taken by Andraste, but oh, Maker, he’s so very pretty...”_

Varric nearly choked on his ale. _Our little Hawke had a crush on Choir Boy for that long? How in the world did she manage to hide her feelings from me so well? Oh, the stories I could’ve written…damn._

 

* * *

 

_**Kirkwall, Hawke Estate, 24th of Harvestmere, 9:32 Dragon...** _

Aspasia sat in the study of her newly-reacquired estate, reading one of her father’s tomes on magic as the morning sun streamed through the window. _Bloody hell! Why aren’t there any spells to erase people from your memory? If I never thought about Alistair again, that would be ideal._ Aspasia scowled as she recalled the night she got the news about her former flame and his new wife, the Hero of Ferelden. _I feel terrible that I didn’t trust Anders when he told me… in the middle of our first date. And he’s done such an admirable job of keeping me completely occupied so I can’t have any time to myself._ She shook her head in self-admonition. _He means well. I shouldn’t project my anger with Alistair onto him. Varric and Izzy both want this so badly for us… surely I can be a little more open to the idea._

Leandra’s faraway voice called out; it was time to head over to the Chantry for services. Begrudgingly, she set her book down and went up to her bedchamber. There, she put on a simple green dress and fastened her favorite brocade waist cincher over the top. She tried to tame her curls, but quickly gave up. Finally, she dabbed a bit of rose salve on her lips and eyelids before jamming her feet into brown leather shoes and dashing down the stairs.

During the sermon, Aspasia looked around for Sebastian, as had become habit since her return to Kirkwall, but did not spot him. When the Grand Cleric gave her final benediction and released the congregation, Aspasia let out a frustrated huff. _I guess he didn’t return from his own travels._

“What’s the matter with you?” Leandra whispered hotly as she grabbed her daughter’s arm. “You didn’t pay a lick of attention throughout the entire service! It was completely mortifying, having a daughter whose head was darting about everywhere, looking for Maker-knows-what.”

“I’m just… I was just looking at the statues. That’s all,” Aspasia fibbed.

Leandra’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. “That’s a pile of… _stuff_ … and you know it, Aspasia.”

Aspasia rolled her eyes as she yanked her arm out of her mother’s grasp. “Fine. I have a friend here, and I wanted to see him. I haven’t had the chance to let him know I’m back from the expedition.”

Leandra relaxed momentarily. “Oh, well — wait. Are you talking about that handsome young man who came to see you off on your expedition? The one who made you blush so much? Aspasia, you’re going straight to the Black Void if you even so much as think of a Brother in that way,” she grumbled.

Aspasia fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve, unwilling to look her mother in the eyes. “No… I mean… well, yes. He is the one you speak of, but I don’t think of him in that way, Mother. Thanks for the vote of confidence. Andraste’s tits, I swear—“

“ _Aspasia Solona Hawke_ ,” Leandra growled. “You would say that in the Chantry? I swear, someday, the ground is going to open up and swallow you whole for your tongue, girl.”

“Sorry, Mum,” Aspasia mumbled as she grew red. “But we talked about this…he’s the one who put out the bounty. The one whose family was slaughtered? His bodyguard came over a few times? In the middle of the night? Shoved me against the wall? Carver got pissed off? Remember now?”

“Ohh…you mean the _Prince_?” Leandra gasped as realization set in and she smiled. She clasped her hands in delight, visions of bouncing royal babies dancing in her head.

“Keep your voice down!” Aspasia hissed. “But yes, that’s him. You go on home. I’m going to ask the Grand Cleric where he is.” Aspasia got up from the pew and trotted over to Elthina, who was making her way up the stairs to her office.

“Grand Cleric Elthina? Could I have a word?”

The elderly lady stopped and looked over her shoulder wearily, as if this sort of thing happened every time she ascended the staircase. “Of course, child. Walk with me.” She waited for Aspasia to catch up before resuming her climb. Once atop the stairs, she opened the door to her office, gesturing for Aspasia to enter. As they settled into a pair of chairs by the fireplace, Elthina folded her hands gracefully. “What is it you seek?”

Aspasia gazed at her feet. “Well… I was wondering where Brother Sebastian is. He asked that I let him know when I returned safely from the Deep Roads.”

Elthina’s gray eyes crinkled as she smiled warmly. “Ah yes… you were off on a grand expedition, were you not? The Maker certainly watched over you carefully, to deliver you safely from such a treacherous journey. Anyway, after you left, Sebastian left to gather support for his claim to Starkhaven’s crown, and has yet to return. If he’s returning at all, that is… depends on how fruitful his travels were,” she muttered, frustrated.

Aspasia tried desperately to hide her concern, failing miserably. “So you don’t know if he’s ever returning to Kirkwall?”

“Well,” she said after several long moments, a sad expression overtaking her features, “He has been gone for nearly a year now, and I haven’t had a letter from him since Drakonis. Were I a gambling sort, my money would be on him not returning any time soon. Now, if you don’t mind, I have other obligations. It’s been a pleasure, Serah Hawke. So nice to see you at services again. Congratulations, by the way, on recovering the Amell Estate from the slavers. I know your mother must be pleased.”

Aspasia nodded and smiled. “She’s thrilled to have the family home back. The services were lovely as always. Thank you for your time, Grand Cleric. Good afternoon,” she said cordially as she exited Elthina’s office.

Aspasia managed to make it all the way out of the Chantry before tears started to prickle behind her eyelids. _This doesn’t make sense, why am I so upset? I barely know the man. Get a hold of yourself, Hawke._ She shook off the sudden flood of emotion and made her way down the long staircase. She had scarcely reached the bottom when a voice from behind spooked her.

“Hawke. What were you doing at the Chantry?” Anders demanded, his honey-colored eyes narrowing critically.

 _Why were you lurking like that?_ “I was at services with my mother. Is it a problem that I go places with her?” Aspasia spun around, rolled her eyes, and kept walking. _You’ve managed to guilt me into spending practically every waking moment with you for weeks. I am allowed a few hours with my mother!_

Anders trotted to keep up. “No, no, of course that’s not a problem… I didn’t mean to sound like that. But I saw Leandra come out quite some time ago, so I was just wondering why you stayed behind. Is everything alright?”

“I was speaking with the Grand Cleric,” Aspasia replied simply.

Anders grabbed her arm, spinning her towards him. “About what?”

Aspasia yanked her arm out of his grip. “Does it bloody matter? Did it ever occur to you that perhaps she took my confession?”

Anders looked confused, as though he wasn’t aware that he had grabbed her arm to begin with. He shook it off. “I didn’t realize that you’re such a devout Andrastian, sweetheart. I’m sorry if I offended you,” he muttered, a remorseful look in his eyes.

Aspasia scowled. _What in the Void? Must be Justice that makes him flip-flop like this._ “Not offended so much as annoyed, Anders. I think you forget, sometimes, just what we are.”

“And what _are_ we, Hawke? We’ve never gotten around to talking about it,” the rebel mage said as he folded his arms across his chest.

“Do we have to talk about this here?” Aspasia whispered, eyes darting around for Templars.

“Of course not. Let’s go down to my clinic,” Anders replied.

The couple made their way through Kirkwall in silence, with Aspasia keeping several paces behind to avoid suspicion, should any Templars spot them. They finally reached Anders’ Darktown clinic. He unlocked the door and ushered Aspasia inside, swiftly closing it again. He stood, pressed against the door as if to keep her from leaving.

“Alright. We’re here. So now… tell me… what are we?” Anders demanded.

Aspasia took a couple of steps back for breathing room and chewed on her thumbnail nervously as she thought. _I did NOT want to have this conversation. Not tonight, anyway. Oh well, best get this cleared up._ “Maybe we should talk in terms of what each of us wants, first.”

“Fair enough. Well, for starters, I want us to be exclusive,” Anders muttered as he pushed off of the door, approaching Aspasia and stooping slightly to meet her downcast eyes.

Aspasia met his gaze. “Not a problem… I haven’t seen anyone else since I got to Kirkwall. But that goes both ways. No more doing whatever it is you do with Maria after clinic hours, you hear me?”

“Hawke, like I’ve told you—“

“Is not what I’ve heard her and Serafina giggling about when I’m waiting around for you to finish with a patient! In fact, that’s my request… no more lies.”

“Also goes both ways, Hawke,” Anders muttered.

Aspasia narrowed her eyes and folded her arms defensively. “What are you getting at?”

Anders matched her defensive stance. “Why were you really sticking around at the Chantry tonight? For all the things you’ve done since coming to Kirkwall, I would have expected a confession might last a couple of days.”

“Fine. I’ll tell you. I wanted to talk to Brother Sebastian,” Aspasia replied with a casual shrug.

“Well, that explains why you’re dressed like _that_ ,” Anders spat as he glanced over Aspasia’s outfit. “Why would you want to see him?”

Aspasia glanced down at her outfit, which was no different than what most Kirkwall ladies wore. _Dressed like what? A normal woman?_ “Before we left for the Deep Roads, he asked me to let him know when we returned. That’s all. Anders, really… he’s a Chantry brother. You have nothing to fear. Besides, he isn’t back from his travels yet.”

Anders propped himself up against a wooden pillar and sighed. “I just didn’t like the way he looked at you in Hightown before we went into the Deep Roads.”

Aspasia’s jaw dropped. “ _What_? You and I weren’t even—“

“I know. I know it’s not rational, alright?” Anders pleaded. “I just… Maker’s breath, Hawke. You really don’t know, do you?”

Aspasia was taken aback. She looked at Anders skeptically. “Know what?”

“The maddening effect you have on any man lucky enough to receive your attention. You’re intoxicating, love. Absolutely stunning,” Anders’s voice dropped to a whisper as he approached. She stared at him, bewildered. “And I just can’t help but feel I’m the luckiest man in Kirkwall when we’re together like this. I know I can be overly… _protective_ , but it’s just that I… I care for you so intensely. I’m sorry. I just want so badly to make you happy. Would you let me try?”

Anders brushed the backs of his fingers across Aspasia’s cheek, gazing into her deep blue eyes as he smiled kindly. _He cares for me and, most importantly, he’s here. He’s not some fantasy man, living a charmed life… with his queen. Forget Alistair. Anders is more of a man than he could ever hope to be._ Unable to resist his sweet words, Aspasia melted into his touch, closing her eyes and sighing happily as a smile crept across her face. He gently grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close, resting his forehead on her mop of ginger curls.

“So can we be together? Officially? Can I start carving our initials in tree trunks?”

Aspasia threw her arms around his neck, nuzzling into his chest. “Yes… though I’ve noticed there aren’t many trees around here. Good luck with that.”

Anders chuckled, then slyly slid his hands down her hips, gripping them a bit more firmly. “Does that also mean we can—“

Aspasia tilted her hips, putting space between them. “No. I want to wait until I’m married for that, Anders.”

“And I respect that you for that, truly,” Anders said through a fake smile. He muttered something under his breath before tenderly claiming Aspasia’s lips, but she was too love-drunk for it to register.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I'm so very sorry it's taken so long to get back to working on this fic! I had put this on hiatus so that I could get other stories in the series caught up. Now that Black Sheep, White Armor: Book Two is a bit ahead of where I left off here, I can finally start adding chapters again. On that note, there will be some overlap between the two fics from here on out, but my goal will be to address the same event from the two differing perspectives (Hawke and Sebastian) respectively. In addition, I will be adding actual calendar dates to Hawke's Journal from now on (and retroactively adding dates to the older entries) to help with continuity concerns. Thank you as always for your readership, and again, I'm so sorry for leaving this stagnant for literal years. I can't promise a chapter schedule at this time, but it certainly won't be years before the next update.


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